Home is Behind
by JMac322
Summary: "Before he knew what was happening, Thorin was pinned to the ground, the strange woman's forearm on his neck. Her eyes were red from crying, and held a delirious quality which was, quite frankly, terrifying. He could see the front of her bizarre vest now, because it was right above him. And on it, in bold white font, were the letters F.B.I."
1. Shatter

**AN:**

**So this is my first Hobbit fanfic, and basically my first published fanfic. Technically it's my second, but I would prefer to just erase that first one from my memory. So go easy on me, but feel free to give feedback. I have the first twenty or so chapters written up already, because I generally like to finish the entire story before I post. Unfortunately, I'm terrible at meeting the deadlines I set for myself, so the story is not yet complete. I had also wanted to post at least one chapter before the last movie came out, but that didn't happen either. So here it is, one day late. I guess we'll just see how this goes.**

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><p>Chapter 1: Shatter<p>

_No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected._

–_Julius Caesar_

The radio was blasting at full volume, and Gemma could have sworn the windows of their armoured SUV were shaking. In the driver's seat beside her, her partner and best friend, Special Agent Patrick Chang, sang along, horribly out of tune. Gemma had let her out of its professional-looking bun and was shaking her head to the music.

She shouldn't have been that cheerful, after all, they were on a particularly nasty case, but she couldn't help it. When you were an F.B.I. agent you had to be professional and serious constantly— or at least be really good at pretending you were. Gemma wasn't so good at it, but she scrapped by well enough. These rare moments, when it was just the two of them, were the only time they could rebel against the agency, and it had become something of a habit for the two. Patrick, in his uniform blue suit, was the image of professionalism from the neck down, but his face told a different story. With short and spiky black hair, upturned eyes, and quirking eyebrows, he seemed to constantly look like he was up to no good. Not your average stuffy agent in a suit, but then, neither was she.

They were driving down an old highway somewhere in rural Pennsylvania. They were returning to Pittsburgh, where their team was currently based, after interviewing the manager of a small bank branch in the middle of nowhere. One of their technical analysts had followed the money trail to the bank, to an accountant under the name of Bruce Wayne. Apparently even terrorists had a goddamn sense of humour.

Yes, this was a first for Gemma and her team. The FBI Counterterrorism team didn't often find themselves working in rural areas, surrounded by farming communities, but that's where a group of homegrown terrorists had decided to set up shop. Generally, Gemma worked in large cities that had significant possible attack targets. It was the reason they had based themselves in Pittsburgh, the only large city close to their area of interest. Surely the terrorists' target was in the city— after all, blowing up a wheat field wouldn't make much of a statement, unless the terrorists really didn't like bread.

They had made absolutely no progress with their interview. The bank manager didn't remember the owner of the account, and there hadn't been any transactions to or from the account in years. The bank didn't even have proper security footage, and they got rid of all their tapes each year. It added to the load of nothing they had turned up in the past week. The occasional chatter, always in code that they had yet to break, was the only proof that the terrorists were even in the area. That, and the break in at a mining supply factory that involved the theft of massive amounts of explosives. Their lack of progress was frustrating, and Gemma was not a patient person. This was why she and Agent Chang were relieving their frustrations through the power of rock and roll as they drove along the bending highway.

The whole team was beyond frustration. They were quickly running out of time to track down the sleeper cell that supposedly had been dormant in Pennsylvania for over ten years. The terrorist chatter, and of course the theft of explosives, suggested that the cell was now active and planning an attack. So the Counter-Terrorism Unit had only a short window of opportunity to find the cell's base of operations. Now that the terrorists were active, they would probably start cleaning up after themselves. If that happened, her team's mission was screwed. She _really _didn't want anything to go wrong. Of course, no one would, but _she_ especially prayed that nothing bad would happen. _Six months and twelve days back on the job, but it was still too soon._ Unfortunately, Gemma had absolutely terrible luck.

Chang's out-of-tune singing interrupted Gemma's worrying as he belted out an exceptionally sour high note, his voice cracking halfway through. Laughing, she resumed dancing in the passenger seat, even joining Patrick's singing at the end out the song. It was those little care-free moments that prevented the stress of her job from driving her completely insane. The song came to an end, leaving a gaping void of silence as the track switched to the next, and all her worries came rushing back in. Gemma knew at that moment that she would never truly relax, never stop worrying. She could only pretend.

A buzzing in her pocket interrupted her brooding. She pulled out her phone and checked the caller ID. It was her team leader, Agent Scott Parker. She quickly shut off the music and mouthed his name to Patrick, before answering the call. Parker certainly wouldn't approve of their little rock and roll session. He was incredibly serious, all the time, and expected everyone else to follow suit. Like a goddamn robot. He was also the type of person who could stop your heart with a single glare.

"LaRoche speaking" Gemma answered with her last name.

"Where are you? Still on highway 28?" Parker asked hurriedly. Gemma sat up ramrod straight in her seat. She knew that tone of voice from working with Parker for years. They had found something.

"Yes. We're just about to merge onto the 422. We're less than an hour away. What is it Parker?"

"We think we found it. Their base. It's right in your area. We're on our way, but you need to get there now. One of our TAs cracked the chatter code and deciphered a street name. The only place on that street that makes sense is an old warehouse. It's perfect. I'm sending you the GPS coordinates now."

Gemma turned on their navigating systems. "Got 'em. We're fifteen minutes away."

"Okay. We're right behind you with back up from the local police station. Secure the perimeter and make sure they haven't already scrubbed the place. We need to get these bastards _now_." He hung up.

Gemma was a bit surprised. Normally Parker would order her to wait for back up, an order she often ignored. Now he wanted her to jump right in. Not that there would be much need for back up. Chances were good that no one would be there when they arrived. The terrorists had probably already moved, paranoid as their event grew closer and closer. Relaying the events of the phone call to Agent Chang, she reached into the back seat for their bulletproof vests. As she donned her own, she felt a familiar tingling in her nerves. It was fear, but the good kind of fear. Fear mixed with excitement, the thrill of a bust. It awakened her, put her senses into overdrive. She had felt it less and less lately, since she got back, but she loved the sensation.

Following the GPS directions, Patrick soon pulled onto a dirt road that cut through an empty field surrounded by forest. As they drove down it, a blue-grey metal warehouse came into view at the end. Parker was correct; it was the perfect place. Isolated, open, easy to defend if necessary. There didn't seem to be any cars parked by the building, but that didn't mean there weren't people inside. If there were, they would certainly know that she and Patrick were coming. Their massive vehicle wasn't exactly hidden as it came up the road. She double checked that her gun was loaded as Patrick pulled the car up to the front of the warehouse, swivelling it 180 degrees in case they needed to make a quick exit. She grabbed the keys as he pulled on his vest and loaded his gun; she was a reckless driver, and only ever allowed to drive when they were in dire situations, like car chases or get-away driving. At any other time she was banned from driving, as her colleagues all agreed that she was a mad woman on wheel. In her defence though, she had only ever crashed the car once... while at work.

Patrick gave her a nod and they exited the vehicle together, raising their guns and slowly creeping forward. They moved as one unit towards the large garage door of the warehouse. It was partially open, so, after checking the perimeter quickly, they ducked under it. They cleared the building and found that the inside was just as empty as outside. Gemma was relieved that there would be no fire fight with the terrorists, but a small part of her was disappointed. She loved catching them, just to feel the adrenaline in her veins as she cuffed them, and to see the looks on the bastards' faces. Plus, an arrest or two would certainly help the case.

The warehouse was relatively empty. An old truck sat in one corner, several wooden tables stood in the middle of the room, and hundreds of storage boxes lined the walls. On the far wall, however, they found what they were looking for. A huge map was spread across the wall, covered in circles and arrows drawn in red pen. The work bench below it was covered in a bomber's tools of the trade: copper wire, pliers, switches, times, nails for projectiles, as well as pile upon pile of blueprints. The agents approached the workbench slowly. Chang took out his camera and began snapping pictures of everything as Gemma pulled on latex gloves to inspect the blueprints. The one on top appeared to be the design of a bomb vest. This was weird. Why had they left all of their plans?

"Hey Pat, could you hand me an evidence bag? These boys have been pretty busy," she said, pointing to the blueprint.

Patrick took out a plastic bag from his jacket pocket and came up behind her, looking at the papers over her shoulder. Gemma stiffened. He was too close, but she couldn't move away without backing into him. She turned to him, and their noses nearly touch. Grabbing the bag from his hand, she raised an eyebrow at him and leaned away slightly. He got the message and took a step back. She faced the workbench again and picked up the blueprints of the bomb vest to put in the evidence bag.

"Oh God, Gemma!" Chang exclaimed from beside her, and for a moment she thought he was mad about her asking him to back off. Seriously, she just _needed_ her personal space. But no, it had something to do with the piece of paper he held in his hand. Gemma was about to ask what it was, but a glance down at the work bench made her forget her question.

Time stopped. The blueprint and the bag she held dropped to the floor as if in slow motion.

It had been covered by the large papers, hidden from view; a device of wires and metal tubes. A bomb. The terrorists weren't just moving their base, they were obliterating it.

Gemma noticed all this in the back of her mind, but her main focus was on the little red numbers flicking down on the device's screen. The timer read fifteen seconds.  
>Everything unfroze, as if someone had pressed play on a remote.<p>

"Run!"

She wasn't sure who screamed it.

_Fourteen seconds. _

Gemma and Patrick sprinted towards the exit. There was no time to grab any evidence or attempt to disarm the bomb.

_Ten seconds._

They were out the garage door, but not out of range. A bomb that size would completely destroy the warehouse and fling debris far.

_Eight seconds._

They were at the SUV. It might protect their bodies from flames and debris, if they managed to get far enough away.

_Six._

Gemma was in the driver's seat. This was one of those situations that called for her daredevil driving

She fumbled the goddamn keys.

_Four._

The car started.

_Three._

They wouldn't make it. She knew that when they first saw the timer. But they had to at least try. It was almost ironic that she would go out in flames. Just the thought made her tremble.

_Two._

Gemma smashed her foot into the gas pedal and the SUV lurched forward, away from the warehouse.

_One._

The explosion was deafening. She felt weightless. She felt nothing. A blinding white light spread before her while monstrous orange flames swelled up to meet her from behind. She didn't know what the white light was. The afterlife? She didn't believe in that kind of thing, not really. At that moment she felt something, an all too familiar feeling she desperately wanted to forget. True fear. Not the excited fear from before, but a fear that tore at her insides and destroyed her.

She closed her eyes and the white light swallowed her whole.


	2. Tears and Fears

**AN:**

**I figured I should also post the second chapter tonight, since the first one didn't actually have any Middle Earth stuff going on in it. Enjoy.**

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><p>Chapter 2: Tears and Fears<p>

"_No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."_

_ –C. S. Lewis_

Thorin couldn't believe his luck. He had not survived the attack of Smaug and the Battle of Azanulbizar just to be eaten by a group of bumbling, idiotic trolls. Yet there he was, stuck in a burlap sack that reeked of mold and rot with only his head poking out the top, as half of his Company was roasted on a spit. Thorin had run out a curse words to angrily mumble a while ago, so he settled for glaring at that stupid little halfling. It was the hobbit's fault that they were in this mess, and he almost wished they had let the trolls tear Bilbo's arms off, so that they wouldn't have been caught. Even as he thought that though, Thorin knew it was a lie. He would never allow a fate like that to befall a member of his Company, no matter how useless they were.  
>With nothing else to do, he watched as the hobbit began to talk to the trolls. Thorin didn't understand what he was doing at first, but soon realised that Bilbo was just trying to buy time. Smart, he admitted as the hobbit told the trolls they all had "worms in their tubes". The other dwarves began to protest, clearly not realising what Bilbo was doing. Thorin rolled his eyes and gave a sharp kick to Kili's side, followed by an imploring and slightly exasperated look. The Company finally caught on.<p>

"I've got worms the size of my arms!" one said, and they all began to agree in an attempt to save their own skins. Thorin stayed silent, rolling his eyes at their over-dramatics.  
>He didn't know what Bilbo was waiting for, but he hoped it would come soon. The trolls were becoming angry and he knew they'd soon figure out Bilbo's lie. Not a second after he thought this, something did come, but it wasn't at all what Bilbo, or anyone else, was expecting.<p>

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><p>Gemma felt the crash, but didn't hear it. All she heard was a high-pitched whine, like feedback from a microphone, but continuous. The explosion must have damaged her hearing, hopefully only temporarily. Through the fading white light she saw a large grey something just before the SUV smashed into it. She was jarred forward, thankfully into the airbag that had just burst from the dash of the car. Dazed, she just sat for a moment as her vision swam. This shouldn't even be happening at all. She and Patrick should be grease stains on the pavement after the explosion. <em>Patrick<em>. She snapped back to attention and wrestled the air bag out of the way. The sight that met her eyes was not what she had hoped for. She expected an equally groggy agent, possible with another broken nose. That happened to Chang a lot. Instead she was met with a terrible nightmare. The airbag had not deployed, and the windshield had completely shattered, leaving broken glass all over the passenger side. A large, jagged piece protruded from Patrick's stomach. "No," she whispered.

Gemma sprang into action. Kicking open the driver's side door, she sprinted around the car without even looking at her surroundings. She yanked the door open and reached in, hooking her arms under Chang's elbows as gently as possible and smoothly pulling him out of the car. If Gemma hadn't been so preoccupied, she might have found it odd that she was setting him down on soft green grass, not the dirt and gravel that surrounded the terrorists' warehouse. But her best friend was dying, and that tends to cause distraction.

"Chang," she lightly smacked his cheek while checking his pulse with her other hand. Erratic, but present nonetheless. His eyes opened and slowly blinked things into focus before locking on hers.

"Gemma," he croaked, mouth curling into a ghost of a smirk as it always did when she was around. Then he coughed, blood spraying from his mouth. Gemma grabbed his hand.

"I'm here. You're going to be fine Pat." It was supposed to sound confident and reassuring, but it came out in a shaky whisper. Gemma removed her gray cotton jacket, revealing a dark green long-sleeved shirt beneath her bulletproof vest. She wrapped the jacket around the shard of glass in an attempt to staunch the blood that escaped the wound. It flowed sluggishly, thick and red-black. She couldn't remove the glass; its jagged edge would only rip the skin and the empty wound would bleed faster.

Her head pounded like a second heartbeat. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. How could she lose Patrick? He was her partner. Her friend. The only person she had left. No, he couldn't possibly be dying. Yet the coppery smell of blood that overwhelmed her nostrils and the puddle of it that was spreading all around them indicated otherwise.

"Don't lie to me Gem," Chang croaked. "I can always tell when you lie."

"I'm not lying!" She shrieked back, her voice cracking, on the verge of hysterics. _Calm down_, she told herself. _Think._ What do you need to do to fix this? "First aid kit. I... I need the first aid kit." It was in the SUV. She made to stand, about to sprint to the car to find it, but was stopped by Patrick's hand around her wrist. His grip was weak.

"Don't leave. You can't fix it Gem. It's done." His voice was barely audible, words formed with loose lips in a raspy whisper. How could this happen so quickly? "I need... tell you...Gem." He was gasping now, unable to speak full sentences. "Gemma... I...love..." He gasped again, choked, but the word wouldn't come out. Then he stilled.

Her mind seemed to freeze, then go into overdrive. "Wait. No, no, no, no, no." She was hysterical. "Pat. Wake up. Come on, don't do this. Chang. Wake up." Tears streamed down her face, but she could barely feel them. She could barely feel anything. "Don't leave Pat. Don't leave me all alone. Tell me what you wanted to say!"

She knew what he wanted to say. _I love you_. She had guessed that he held deeper feeling for her some time ago. But what was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell a dying man that she didn't love him like that; that she only saw him as a friend. Her best friend, though, practically family since she didn't have any of _that_ anymore.

This just brought on another bout of weeping. She took Patrick's body in here arms and rocked him gently, like a mother rocking a baby. She was barely breathing now, shrieking incoherent pleas to her friend's body. She just kept going until she ran out of energy to weep. Her head was still spinning from the explosion and the crash, and the woozy feeling suddenly hit her again. She began to dry heave, holding herself above the ground on her knuckles. _Calm down. Breath._ She was slowly regaining control of her senses and she finally realized that she didn't know where she was. She wasn't at the warehouse anymore. She smelt pine when she should have smelled smoke, felt damp grass beneath her, not the unforgiving gravel road. And she heard... Gemma froze. She heard the soft thump of footsteps, approaching slowly, sneakily, from behind.

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><p>CRASH!<p>

The sound came from nowhere, loud and shrieking. And then the boulder behind the trolls moved. It didn't roll far (thank goodness, or it would have crushed the immobilized dwarves) but it was enough to let the sunlight peek into the clearing. Before the trolls could even exclaim their surprise, the three creatures turned into ugly, though morbidly amusing, statues.

Thorin didn't know what happened. He looked to the left of the boulder, where Gandalf stood. The wizard was wide-eyed and frozen in place, as if he had been about to step onto the boulder before it move. He probably had. He was probably on his way to save them in some grand spectacle of magic. But Thorin knew this wasn't his doing, because the Istari wore an expression Thorin had never seen on him before: confusion.

Bilbo, surprisingly, was the first to recover from the shock. With his small body he was able to wriggle his way out of his sack, and proceeded to free the others. Gandalf strode over to them to help, and soon the dwarves were all on their feet. The Company looked to Thorin, who sent a glance at Gandalf. The wizard locked eyes with him, and they somehow reached a silent understanding; they would investigate the cause of the crash.

Thorin crept forward as silently as possible, waving the others to follow. They didn't know what happened, and there could easily be enemies lying in wait on the other side of the rocks. Thorin climbed over the smaller rocks beside the boulder, which formed a sort of barrier between the trolls' clearing and whatever was behind the boulder. On the other side lay a larger clearing, which could almost be called a field, of soft grass still damp from the morning dew. Towering pines surrounded the field on all sides.

Thorin noticed all this in the back of his mind, but his focus was captured by something much more interesting. A big black… _thing_ sat right where the boulder had been. It seemed to be made of metal, with glass on the front and sides, though that had shattered and tiny pieces now littered the ground, sparkling like frost. Smoke leaked from the front of the thing, which seemed to be crumpled as though it had smashed right into the boulder. It would have had to be moving, Thorin reasoned, and at quiet a fast speed to have the power to move the boulder. The thing even had wheels, like a carriage but with no horse to pull it. Thorin had never seen anything like it, and he doubted any of the others had either. The Company spread out on either side of him to peek over the rock wall at the strange object.

Then things got even stranger. Some sort of door on the side of the object opened, and out jumped a woman of the race of Men. She was quite beautiful, Thorin thought, in a strange and shocking way. Her face was all angles; a sharp nose, large eyes, arching eyebrows, defined cheek bones, and a wicked mouth characterized her pale face to give her an intense, almost fierce, look. Her hair, however, was in complete contrast, black-brown tresses falling in loose waves to her shoulder, as if they couldn't decide whether they should be curly or straight. She was probably just over average height for a human, but she would tower over most dwarves, probably half a head taller than he. The woman wore rather strange clothes, the kind that no decent woman should wear. Black trousers and some sort of gray coat hid what Thorin guessed was a toned body. He could tell by the way the woman moved.

And move she did. The Company watched as she nearly flew to the other side of the large object she came out of. She did not appear to notice them, or anything for that matter. The woman ripped open another door on the other side and pulled out... Thorin heard some of the dwarves gasp, and he signalled for them to be quiet, though he too was shocked. The woman had pulled out an equally strange-looking man who appeared to have a huge shard of glass lodged in his stomach. They watched as the lady lay him down on the grass, the man's blood staining his clothing, which was just as odd as the woman's, and pooling around the two figures. Thorin knew the man was beyond saving, for no one could lose that much blood that quickly and survive, but the woman did not seem to know this. Or perhaps she did but refused to believe it. He watched her say something to the man, though he could not hear it properly, then watched her remove her coat and use it to attempt to stop the blood flow. She was unsuccessful. Thorin could only see her back from his vantage point, which was now clad in an even stranger dress: a navy blue vest of some sort over a dark green, tight-fitting tunic. The female hunched herself over the dying man, shaking her head at him and saying something more as he tried to speak. Finally, the man grew still, and the Company watched as the woman began to sob. Thorin could hear this sound perfectly clearly. Broken moans filled the clearing in a way that made his heart grow heavy, though he did not know the lady.

The other dwarves, shaken as they were, seemed to feel it too, some even bowing their heads. They all understood loss. The female's sobs finally subsided, but then she began to heave and retch, as if she couldn't hold the air in her lungs. Despite himself, Thorin felt concerned. He didn't understand why; he didn't know the woman, and as a general rule he didn't sympathize or care for random strangers, simply because he didn't like most people. But he noticed now that the woman had cuts on her arms from the glass, and her laboured breathing meant something had to be wrong. So he motioned for the others to stay still while he slowly and silently moved forward.

Thorin still did not know if the woman was friend or foe, so he crept forward cautiously. He did not know where she, or her large metal contraption, came from, but he felt the overwhelming urge to help her. Unfortunately, it was then that he stepped on the shattered glass littering the ground, and his boot made a soft _crunch_. The sound was barely audible, but it was enough. Before he knew what was happening, Thorin was pinned to the ground, the strange woman's forearm on his neck. Her eyes were red from crying, and held a delirious quality which was, quite frankly, terrifying. He could see the front of her bizarre vest now, because it was right above him.

And on it, in bold white font, were the letters **F.B.I.**


	3. A Hostile Welcome

**AN:**

**Wow. To paraphrase one wonderful reviewer, I am **_**floored**_** by the response I've received already. You guys made me grin like an idiot all week. But now that I know people are actually reading this, I'm feeling more pressure to make this story _good_!**

**Anyway, I'm thinking of starting regular updates on Mondays, but because I'm on winter break right now, I may throw in a few extra updates in the next few weeks. Or maybe not, because I sort of hate the next chapter and am thinking of rewriting it completely. So expect random updates for a little while, but eventually there will be a schedule.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter 3: <em>A Hostile Welcome<em>

"_I influence anybody who is able to get through the chaos of my first impression."_

–_Gary Vaynerchuk_

Everything was silent. Gemma stared into the man's eyes, and he into hers. She watched his face contort in surprise, and then watched his eyes travel down to her chest, focusing on the white letters on her bulletproof vest. His expression morphed to one of confusion. Odd. Surely he knew what the F.B.I was. Gemma scanned his body as well. He was rather short, but she could feel that his body was corded with muscles. He had long black hair with a few grey streaks and some thin braids throughout. And he wore the most ridiculously huge fur coat, over equally ridiculous clothing. The man looked like he was from a renaissance fair. Still, he was rather attractive. A strong jaw, piercing blue eyes... if her hands weren't preoccupied with holding the man down, she would have slapped herself. _Focus_.

Short renaissance-nerd terrorists. That was a first. In fact this probably had to be the weirdest case she'd ever had, which was saying something, because she'd been a street cop in _New York_ for a few years. This was maybe even weirder than that guy who covered himself in whipped cream and… well maybe this wasn't _quite _as weird as that, but it was close. Not that it mattered. If these were the guys that were responsible for Patrick… well, if they made the bomb, she would rip them apart with her bare hands.

The man was beginning to overcome his initial shock, and it left anger in its wake. With his obvious strength, he could probably force her off of him. If he tried, her only option would be to snap his neck. In this position, with the right amount of pressure, it would be easy, but then he would be dead. She didn't want that, at least, not until she knew who he was, so she decided to switch positions. Besides, she'd never actually snapped someone's neck before, (she really wasn't a violent person _normally_) and it sounded rather gruesome and probably messy. The man's icy blue eyes briefly glanced to the left, to look at something behind her. Not something, _someone_, she thought.

Without allowing any time for him to resist, Gemma hauled them both to their feet, moving behind him while maintaining her choke hold and simultaneously removing her gun from its holster. She pointed the weapon in front of her and yelled, "F.B.I. Don't move."

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><p>Thorin didn't know what the F.B.I or the strange metal thing in her hand were, but he knew this woman was not the same one he had seen weeping. This woman was composed and controlled and strong. And most definitely insane.<p>

He watched the rest of the Company appear slowly, and felt the woman tense.

"Put your weapons down," she commanded. They did. "Kick them away and place your hands behind your head." They did that too, reluctantly. Then they just stared at each other; the Company and the woman equally shocked by one another.

"Who are you? Are you part of the sleeper cell? Was that your warehouse?" The questions tumbled from the woman's mouth in rapid succession. Her voice was cold, low, and intimidating, but not altogether unpleasant, despite the fact it was still scratchy from sobbing.

"I'm sorry Miss, I think you're confused," Balin said cautiously. "I don't know what a sleeper cell is, but I can assure we are not one of them. We are but humble merchant dwarves."

The woman scoffed. "Dwarves? Do you think I'm an idiot?! Get down on your knees, terrorists."

They did not.

"Please my lady, I don't know who you think we are, but we are dwarves from Ered Luin. We mean you no harm. We wanted to help you, see if you were okay."

"_Okay_?!" she shrieked. Thorin jumped at the sudden change in her voice. He could feel her body begin to shake. He could probably escape now, but the woman was unstable, and he had no idea what her strange metal weapon (he assumed it was a weapon by the way she was holding it) could do. "You killed my partner! I almost died in that warehouse explosion! Do you _think_ I'm okay?!"

Balin looked confused. "What warehouse?"

"What warehouse? The one you blew a fucking crater in!" Thorin was shocked by her language, but not for long, as she suddenly swung them both around to gesture at the open field behind. "Right there..." she trailed off, because there was nothing _right_ _there_. "No, that doesn't make sense. A blast like that..." she swayed and her arms went slack. Thorin quickly ducked under her arm and ran to his Company, whirling around and drawing his sword in case she attacked. Instead, she looked around, and then straight at him with big, unfocused green eyes.

"Where am I?" She asked, and then fainted before she could get an answer.

* * *

><p>Gemma awoke to the smell of tea and the warmth of a soft blanket around her shoulders. She reluctantly cracked open her stiff eyelids to come face to face with a very old man with a long grey beard and a matching pointed hat. Everything came rushing back.<p>

She scrambled backwards and reached for her hip, but her gun was not in her holster. "Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit!" she swore, and the old man/ medieval terrorist guy smiled.

"It's nice to see you're awake, my dear." He didn't sound cruel or taunting, but Gemma wasn't big on trusting people before they earned it.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she croaked.

"I am Gandalf the Grey, and you, my dear are in the forest just west of Bree." He looked at her and saw her confusion. "No? We're on the East-West road." She shook her head. "By the Shire. Come now, you must know the Shire. Most everyone on this side of Middle Earth has at least heard of it." Gandalf tried. She decided that maybe she was wrong. He seemed nice, and though everything in her training told her not to, she wanted to trust him. His words, however, confused her.

"Middle Earth?" She questioned. "I don't think that's anywhere in America that I've heard of."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Curious."

"What is? What the hell is going on? Why did you say that you guys are dwarves?"

"Actually," Gandalf said calmly, "I am a wizard." He ignored her disbelief and continued on. "And I believe that you've come a long way from home."

Gemma listened intently as the old man, correction: old _wizard_, explained to her that she was in a world called Middle Earth, and that he believed she had been sent there by powerful magic, for he had felt a surge of power unlike anything he had experience when she arrived. She wanted to tell him he was crazy, or laugh hysterically, but the further he explained, the more it made sense. In a twisted crazy kind of way. Gemma figured her mind was screwed up enough that she could actually consider the possibility that this was real. Gandalf's theory explained why she suddenly found herself in a forest, no destroyed warehouse in sight. It explained why she didn't recognize any of the places Gandalf had listed. It could even explain the bright white light she saw during the explosion.

But hell, it was just too impossible. Half of her wanted to believe the story, while the other half was convinced that she had fallen into some sort of trauma-induced hallucination. With all the messed up things that had happened to her throughout her life, that second option actually had a pretty high probability. But Gemma figured it was probably best to just roll with the punches, and hope that she hadn't actually lost her mind completely.

"I...I'm supposed to be in Pennsylvania right now, Pittsburgh to be specific. I don't suppose you've heard of it?" she asked hopefully. Gandalf shook his head. "Jeez," she said, mostly to herself as she closed her eyes. "I've travelled to a completely different world. Sure, why not? Maybe next Captain Kirk and Spock will show up." She then realised that she had been thinking all this aloud. She opened her eyes to see Gandalf chuckling, though looking somewhat confused. He probably had no idea what she was talking about. No one in Middle Earth would, which completely sucked.

"Come, my dear, I'll introduce you to the Company." Gandalf extended a hand and helped her up. Her head still swam, but she felt much more stable than before. However, the blanket that had covered her before fell as she stood, and she gasped at what she saw. Someone must have cleaned it off her hands and face while she was unconscious, but her pants and the bottom of her shirt were still covered in blood, now stiff and brown. Patrick's blood, black-brown against her blue shirt. The sight made her sick, and she began to tremble.

"I… think I should change before I meet anyone else," she told Gandalf. "I have some extra clothes in my bag in the car." Seeing the confused expression on his weathered face, she chuckled and said "I mean that big scary metal thingy I crash into that boulder."

With Gandalf to keep her steady, she made her way to the vehicle, passing by the rest of the Company on her way. The looks they gave her were a collage of curiosity, horror, and anger. Mostly anger, especially from the one she had tackled and held at gunpoint. But that was somewhat understandable. She smirked and wiggled her fingers at him as she passes. He just shot her an icy glare and turned away. Gemma smiled to herself; she could already tell she would have fun getting on his nerves. She should _probably_ try to be nice to these people. Being polite and apologetic would _probably_ be the best idea. But she had tanked her first impression so badly that Gemma figured maybe what she really needed to do was build up an appearance of strength. She was probably overcompensating, but Gemma didn't like being weak.

Popping the trunk of the SUV, (to a symphony of awed gasps that some dwarves did better at concealing that others) she grabbed the overnight bag that she had brought with her when they went to interview that bank manager. Even the middle of nowhere had crappy motels, which was where she and Chang had to stay the night before. Had it really been only this yesterday that they were in that dusty old town? Without the thought of bombs, death, or other worlds even crossing their minds? No it couldn't have been. It had been weeks, months, years, or so it felt.

"I'll just be a moment," she told Gandalf as she clambered into the trunk and shut the hatch. Stripping down to her underwear, she ripped open the black canvas bag. There was a pair of stretchy black pants and a grey thermal shirt, which she pulled on. She strapped on her bulletproof vest again; in a strange land where wizards and dwarves existed, she figured any protection she could have would be useful. Delving deeper into her bag, she found her F.B.I wind breaker. She pulled that on over her vest, since her grey coat was now ruined. What else was in here? There were some extra socks and underwear, a pair of jeans, half a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush, a hairbrush, the tiny bottle of shampoo and conditioner that she'd snagged from the motel, and, hidden at the bottom of her bag, a silky red evening dress. She must have forgotten to take it out after her last case (that was a different story altogether). It wouldn't do her much good here, but she kept it in the bag. She barely paid attention to any of these items; she was looking for something specific. There it was, tucked in the bottom corner: a box of fifty bullets. She opened it up. Fifty tiny angels of death, sitting in rows in their golden casings. Gemma wasn't sure where her gun was; they must have taken it after she passed out. Gemma didn't like using her gun, despite being one of the best shots in her unit, but being unarmed made her jumpy, especially given the current situation. Ever since… well, she hadn't been unarmed in a long time. Maybe it made her paranoid, but she never wanted anyone to get the jump on her again.

She was about to open the hatch and get out when she remembered Patrick's bag. Knowing him, he'd have a full box of ammo as well. He certainly wouldn't need it anymore. As soon as she thought it she mentally slapped herself. What kind of sick person was she? Who thought things like that about their dead friends? Still, her twisted mind was right, and she needed the bullets. Sure enough, there was a full box in his bag, which she placed in her own. Then, adjusting the strap of her canvas bag across her chest to hold the bag against her back, she exited the car.

Gemma accepted Gandalf's helping hand as she climbed from the trunk. Together they made their way over to the rest of the dwarves, who were seated around a dwindling campfire. Gemma found the seat the farthest away from the fire, pretending not to notice the stares she received from the dwarves. Trying to act casual and comfortable, she busied herself with tying her hair into a messy bun. Gandalf approached the taller dwarf with the piercing blue eyes; the one she had held hostage. The two conversed in hushed tones, occasionally glancing at her or making gestures with their hands.

Though Gandalf seemed to have considerable authority, the dwarf appeared to be the leader of this "Company" as the wizard had called it. Just my luck, Gemma thought. Of course she had to attack the leader of the group. Clearly the universe, or whatever divine power existed in this world, wanted to make things as difficult as possible for her. As if it hadn't done that to her already. The universe really didn't like Gemma. Still watching the two of them talk, she felt... was she nervous? Gemma was usually quite confident, but the thought of the dwarves' judgement made her anxious. Would they send her away? She was in a whole new world, so she really had nowhere to go. Worse, they could deem her a threat and try to kill her. Despite her skills, she doubted she could take on all of them at once. No, her only hope was to convince them to help her. Or to pray that this was all a hallucination.

"If you don't mind, lass, we were wonderin', what is a febee?" a voice asked. Gemma looked up to find a dwarf wearing a completely ridiculous hat standing before her. He wore a friendly grin on his face, though he seemed a bit nervous of her.

After staring at him for an uncomfortable moment, the dwarf's words seemed to register. _Febee?_ "Um...I'm sorry what do you...," then she realised he was looking at the letters on the front of her vest: F.B.I. "Oh! This," she pointed to the letters and the dwarf nodded. The others had stopped what they were doing now, even Gandalf and the leader; everyone was listening, staring. It just made her more nervous, especially one particular pair of bright blue eyes resting on her.

"Well, um, it's my job. It stands for Federal Bureau of Investigations. We're um... we're like special guards, I guess," she said, trying to relate her job to things they'd understand. As far as she could tell, she'd stepped into some sort of medieval alternate universe. She didn't think they'd know what federal agents or police were. "But we don't protect a specific place, we protect people. We enforce the law, and we catch people who break it. My job specifically is to stop bad people we call terrorists. They're people who don't like our country or specific groups of people, and they attack us by creating terror. They cause chaos and panic and usually death. Sometimes they kill thousands." She had been looking past the dwarves, trying to ignore their stares, but now she looked at them; at him. The leader with the blue eyes. "It's my job to stop them. But they got us, and now my partner is dead. That's why I attacked you; I thought you were one of them. I am sorry." Gemma never liked apologizing; she was much too stubborn, but it had to be done. As she became more and more convinced that this might actually be real, she became more convinced that maybe she _should _try to make up for that awful first impression, if she could. Her gaze was still locked on his and she saw him nod, though the look in his eyes said that he still held some resentment. She had wounded his ego, and she was beginning to understand that pride meant everything to this man. Dwarf. Whatever.

"That sounds dangerous," an old dwarf with a long white beard said, causing Gemma to finally look away from the leader. "It doesn't sound like a job for a gentle woman such as you."

Gemma scoffed. Great, she was stuck with a bunch of sexists from the dark ages; literally. "Gentle? Please, I think Grumpy over there can confirm that I can take care of myself," she said, gesturing to the leader. She was fully aware that name-calling was a bad idea, but when she got nervous or riled up, she tended to lay on the sarcasm thickly. "Where I come from, women and men are considered equals. I am just as capable as you are."

The old dwarf looked like he wanted to reply, but a young blond dwarf beat him to it. "Where is that exactly? Where did you come from? And what is that thing that you came out of?"

Gemma looked to Gandalf, who stepped in. "As far as I can tell, she has come from a different world, one that somehow connected with ours briefly. I don't know how but I felt the strangest surge of energy right before we found her."

The dwarves took some time to process that. She could tell that many didn't believe Gandalf's words at first, but they were beginning to see the logic in them, despite their impossibility. "Well can you send her back?" her previous hostage asked gruffly. He gave Gandalf a look that clearly said he would not be pleased if the answer was no. Gemma was liking this guy less and less, but she was just as curious about Gandalf's answer. She needed to get back and warn her team. After all, what were the chances that the terrorists just happened to blow up the warehouse while they were inside? None. In her business, coincidences did not exist. They knew they'd be there. She had to get back to her team.

"Well perhaps I could just reverse the energy that I felt when she arrived. I suppose... But first I think food and introductions are in order, and we should look for the trolls' cave. There must be one nearby, and troll caves have troll hoards," Gandalf said, and that was that. Gemma wanted to protest –she just wanted to go home– but her stomach betrayed her at the mention of food. Nodding her head, she said, "Well then, I'm Special Agent Gemma LaRoche, but you can just call me Gemma. Or Agent LaRoche. Or just LaRoche. Whatever you want..." she was aware that she was rambling, but the unwavering stares of fifteen medieval men were making her uncomfortable.

Gandalf came to her rescue, passing her a mug full of thick green liquid. "Well my dear, you know I am Gandalf the Grey. To my right are Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, then Fili and Kili, Oin and Gloin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin and Balin. The hobbit is Mister Bilbo Baggins, and this is the Company's leader, Master Thorin Oakenshield. But you two are already acquainted," he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Gemma tried to ignore this and took a large gulp of the liquid from her mug in an attempt to hide her blush. She couldn't tell if it was supposed to be tea or soup, but it warmed her insides and ebbed away the gnawing hunger in her stomach. Working her jaw, she stared back at the dwarves for a second before knitting her brows together in concentration. "Alright, that was Gandalf, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, um... Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin," she paused for a breath then continued, counting with her fingers as she said their names. "Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin, Balin, Bilbo Baggins the erm... hobbit, and Thorin Oakenshield, the head honcho." Gemma could tell the dwarves, despite themselves, were impressed. She shrugged nonchalantly, taping her head, "Gotta have a good memory. It's part of my job."

She downed the rest of her drink and reclined back slightly, appearing completely at ease. These people had seen her at her absolute worst, but she refused to be considered weak. So she was throwing up her shields, putting on a facade of haughty confidence. It would keep her alive. She cocked her head to the side and smirked.

"Just one question; what the _hell_ is a hobbit?"


	4. A Brief Homecoming

**AN:**

**Remember when I said I was trying to work on a consistent schedule of Monday posts? Yeah, forget that.**

**There are a couple things I wanted to cover in this author's note. First, I keep forgetting to put in a disclaimer! So here it is:**

**I don't own The Hobbit, or anything associated with Middle Earth, and I make no profit from this work. Only my OCs and a few tiny subplots woven into this story belong to me.**

**Now that that's done, onto reviews. Thank you so much the awesome response I've received so far. Reviews are definitely appreciated. I got a few questions in some recent reviews, so I figured I would answer them as best as I can. First, will there be a pairing in this story? Yes. I've listed this as a Thorin/OC fic, so there will **_**eventually**_** be some romance. As for whether this will be an AU/fix-it fic, well… I guess… sort of. I don't really want to reveal anything about the ending I have planned, which may even change once I see the last movie (I haven't seen it yet, and the waiting is killing me!), but let's just say it will be… bittersweet. Finally, what about Patrick's body? I'm glad you asked. I haven't forgotten poor Patrick.**

**This is a pretty short chapter, but I think I'll have the next one up soon. Enjoy.**

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><p>Chapter 4: A Brief Homecoming<p>

_And he don't recognise me anymore._

_Burned out flames should never re-ignite._

_But I thought you might..._

_Take me, take me home._

_ –Home, Daughter_

After a breakfast of leftover stew, the dwarves dispersed. It seemed that they had had quite the eventful night even before Gemma arrived. She apparently had saved them from a group of mountain trolls when she crashed into the boulder.

Now that was something not many people could claim.

Gemma was going through her bag again, mostly just for something to do. _Just don't think…don't think…don't think about it. _But wait...

"Where's my gun?" she asked, remembering that it had been missing when she woke.

"You mean this?" A fair haired young dwarf, Fili she remembered, asked, waving her weapon haphazardly in the air.

"Don't do that!" she cried, snatching it from him and making sure the safety was still on. "God, do you want to blast your face off?"

From his place beside Fili, Kili raised a bushy eyebrow. "That little thing? I doubt it could be that dangerous."

"Well don't try to test that theory, because it can. I'd show you but I'm conserving my ammo. Let's just say, it makes your arrows seem like harmless twigs." She holstered the weapon, the familiar weight on her hip somewhat calming. Ever since… well, she didn't like to be unarmed. _Don't think about __**that**__ either._

The dwarves just smirked at her with disbelief. "If that's true, we could sure use a weapon like that on our quest," Kili stated.

It was Gemma's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Quest?"

Kili was about to reply, but was silenced by an elbow to the gut from Fili and an equally painful glare from Thorin, who had been eavesdropping not far away.

"Oh I get it. Classified, eh? Well good luck on your super-secret quest-thingy," Gemma said nonchalantly. She honestly couldn't care less, because she was still somewhat convinced that this was some seriously screwed up hallucination. It wasn't the most comforting thought, because it meant she was bat-shit-crazy, but hey, at least she was an imaginative insane person. Besides, even if this was real, Gandalf was going to transport her home soon.

She turned to Gandalf, who was standing a little ways away, drawing a circle in the dirt with his staff. "Hey, um... sir?" What exactly was the proper way to address a wizard? "It was really nice to meet you and all, but I'd really like to be going now. Things to do, terrorist ass to kick, so can we get this show on the road?" _Don't think…don't think…don't think about it._

Gandalf merely smiled and took her hand, drawing her into the nearly complete circle. She regarded Gandalf as he finished it. He reminded Gemma of a kindly old grandfather, but at the same time he seemed to radiate a sort of aura of power. Normally she would have dismissed the idea of wizards and magic immediately, but with the events of the morning, it wouldn't even be surprising now. Plus, magic would be pretty bad ass. Though if this entire thing was a hallucination, then so was his magic, which meant it wouldn't work, which meant she'd be stuck in this fucked-up medieval wonderland until some crazy doctor from the mental hospital where she would surely be sent snapped her out of it by electrocuting her brain. Okay, maybe she was getting a bit ahead of herself.

Gandalf finished the circle and stepped back, shooting a withering glare at the dwarves, who had begun to crowd around. They simultaneously took a step back, and Gemma chuckled. Gandalf would have made a great interrogator; kind and seemingly trustworthy while intimidating at the same time. She gave them all an awkward little wave, and, just to spite him one more time, gave Thorin a cheeky little wink. He so clearly disliked her (though, she couldn't really blame him; she _had _threatened his life, after all. Not the best first impression). She almost wished she could stay longer, just to see how angry she could make Thorin; it was pretty fun.

The old wizard held his staff perpendicular to the ground and began muttering foreign words in low tones, so that it sounded like he was humming. Wait, so they were doing this _now_? She wanted to tell him to stop, wait, she had to get… _Don't think about it_, her mind still whispered. But no, she _should_ think about it… about him. She couldn't just block him out like she did with all her other problems, because this wasn't about her this time. This was about Patrick. Patrick's body. She needed to bring him home.

But the spell had already begun.

Gemma's skin tingled and her vision swam as the scene before her changed. The trees and grass of the clearing seemed to dissolve as hardwood floors and pastel green walls took their place. She recognized the room as it formed around her; it was the living room of her apartment in Washington. She wasn't just back in her own world, she was home. Gemma could now even feel the floor beneath her feet and her vision started to clear and focus.

She wondered if she had ever even left her apartment at all.

Then there was an agonizing pain in her stomach; a sharp yank, as if something were pulling her apart from the inside. Just as it had before, her surroundings blurred and changed and she was back in the clearing again. Gemma fell forward to her hands and knees as she gulped in air, coughing and wheezing. The pain was excruciating, but began to slowly subside.

"Shit," she nearly sobbed as she again looked up into the faces of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard. "Oh God!" She heaved and coughed, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the ground.

When the pain was gone, she accepted Gandalf's hand and got to her feet. "What happened?" The wizard questioned.

"It worked. I... one minute I was home, I could feel the floor beneath my feet and everything, and then ... it was like something ripped me away from my world and threw me back here." She wanted to cry, but there was no way she would cry in front of a bunch of strangers twice in one morning. She looked to Gandalf in thinly veiled desperation. "Please, is there anything else you can do? Can we try again?" She just wanted to go home, goddammit.

"I think one attempt is enough this morning, I don't want you to be hurt, my dear. But there is someone who may be able to help with your... unique situation. I believe we will encounter him in our journey."

Thorin seemed to realize what Gandalf was implying just as Gemma did, and he made a noise of disapproval. The wizard gave Thorin a hard look, as if daring him to argue, before turning back to Gemma with a kind smile. "So for now, you shall travel with us."

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><p><strong>So I'm aware that I'm screwing around with Gandalf's magic and how it works, and there will be more of that, which some of you may not like. But I have this idea planned, and this is the only way to do it. I think the result will be worth some of the weird things I'll have to throw in.<strong>

**Review?**


	5. Shadow of Death

**AN:**

**Hey everyone. Here's another chapter. I'm also not incredibly fond of this one, but it's alright. Mostly just filler. The next one will be fun. Thanks to everyone who is still reading this. I'm still surprised that I'm getting any response. I especially appreciate the lovely reviews I've received (Hopefully they won't be the last. Hint, hint.).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.**

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><p>Chapter 5: Shadow of Death<p>

"_In the forest we are hiding,_

_Unmarked graves where flowers grow._

_Hear the soldiers angry yelling,_

_In the river we will go."_

_ –Haiti, Arcade Fire_

To say Thorin was not pleased would be a gross understatement. He was livid. The woman, travel with them?! They had only met her an hour ago, and between then and now she had attacked and threatened him and his Company, insulted him with her strange names and speech, and revealed that she was from an entirely different world! And now Gandalf wanted her to travel with them, which of course meant they would have to reveal the secret of their quest to her. No, Thorin was not pleased in the slightest.

He had certainly not appreciated the look Gandalf had given him when the wizard declared his plan, and Gandalf knew it too. He approached Thorin wearing a serious face that matched Thorin's own, but held none of the dwarf's fury.

"You cannot be serious." Thorin somehow managed to whisper and yell at the same time. "We barely know this woman, how can we trust her? You said yourself that the secrecy of the quest was an absolute priority and now you are willing to let any lady we cross paths with join us?"

Gandalf sighed, exasperated at Thorin's temper. "Master Oakenshield, you know as well as I do that Ms. LaRoche isn't just any lady."

"Exactly," the woman in question called from the other side of their camp. "Obviously, I'm no 'lady'." She smirked and quirked an eyebrow at Thorin. "By the way, you should work on whispering, you know, _quietly_." Thorin sent a glare her way. The nerve of that woman! She raised her hands in surrender and covered her ears with a chuckle. She was laughing at him! He gave Gandalf a disbelieving look.

Gandalf himself was holding back a chuckle. "Well Thorin, lady or not, I believe she can be trusted. After all, she could not possibly be an ally of any of our enemies, for she has only just arrived in this world! It is only for a little while, and she needs our help." The old wizards gave a soft laugh as he looked at the women, who appeared to be in deep conversation with Thorin's nephews. She made animated gestures with her hands as she talked, explaining something to the young dwarves, who seemed absolutely captivated. "Besides, I am an excellent judge of character, Master Oakenshield." With that, the wizard turned on his heels and left, off to do, well, whatever it is that wizards do.

Thorin didn't know it, but Gandalf wore a mischievous smile and was thinking the same thing he thing he had when he enlisted an unwilling Bilbo in this grand adventure; _it will be good for you and most amusing for me_.

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><p>"Okay so you put your right hand— you're right-handed right? Good. So you put you right hand here on the handle."<p>

"Like this?"

"Almost, it's got to be in the web of your hand — there. Okay grip it really hard with these fingers and use your other hand to steady it, like this. And make sure your thumbs aren't near these parts. Good."

Thorin returned to their camp clearing before most of the dwarves, who were still going through the treasures of the troll cave. His new sword, which, he had to admit, was rather marvellous despite its elven make, was held firmly in his hand, not yet attached to his belt. What he saw in the clearing, however, almost made him drop it. Kili, who, Thorin supposed, had not even gone to the troll cave, was holding the strange contraption that the woman had called a 'gun', while the woman herself stood beside, adjusting his nephew's grip. She wore a no-nonsense expression as she explained how the supposed-weapon worked. Kili listened intently, hanging off her every word with rapt attention. A few steps away, his brother did the same as he watched. Thorin considered interrupting what was certainly a threat to Kili's safety, but something stopped him. He watched in unconscious fascination. After correcting Kili's stance and pointing out a few more things, the woman stepped back.

"So now you'd pull the trigger and make sure to follow though. It can have a pretty nasty kick."

Thorin wasn't sure what he expected. Certainly not the tiny click that followed. Neither, apparently, was Kili.

"What happened?"

"It's not loaded, that's what," she smirked. "No way am I wasting any of my bullets on target practice, and I would never give a first-time shooter a loaded gun."

Kili looked disappointed. The woman just chuckled and patted him on the back. Thorin regarded her actions with grudging respect; she had not, in fact, put his nephew in danger after all.

The dwarf lord cleared his throat, finally making his presence known to the two. Kili blushed, muttered something unintelligible and scampered over to his brother. Gemma just stared at Thorin, hands on her hips in a way that made her look even taller.

Thorin turned on his heels and walked away from the camp into the forest, assuming she would follow; soft footfalls behind him signalled that she had. When they were far away enough to have some privacy, Thorin spun again. "Listen well, woman. I, quite frankly, do not want you anywhere near my Company. I do not trust you in the slightest. But wizards are particularly hard to come by, and ours seems to have taken a liking to you. So, you are permitted to travel with us, for the time being, so long as you do not cause any more trouble. I will have Balin explain to you the nature of our quest and write you a contract, though you shall not be with us to the end. And I must warn you now; the consequences will be most severe should you betray us."

Gemma simply stared at him for a beat before her lips contorted into a scowl. "First of all, do not call me woman in that jerky little derogatory tone of yours, _Mister_ Oakenshield," she sneered. " It is quite obvious that you don't like me at all, and, just in case I haven't made it clear already, I don't like you either. However, I do appreciate your _gracious_ travel invitation, so thank you. Ad far as causing trouble goes, I'm pretty sure I saved your ass from a bunch of mountain trolls. I wouldn't call that 'causing trouble', but whatever. I swear I won't fuck up your little quest, and I would never betray anyone I gave my word to, no matter how much of a jerk they are." She became more serious. "As soon as I get to this friend of Gandalf's who can send me home, you won't even have to share the same world as me, so let's just try to be civil."

Thorin nodded, satisfied with her proposal; it seemed fair enough. "Well then Ms. LaRoche, we will be leaving shortly. We have already spent too long here," he said brusquely. He turned to go, but caught the change in her expression, which made him stop; she had looked past him to the wreckage of the machine in which she had arrived, her face contorting in pain.

Thorin had thought it odd that she had been acting so lively when a few hours before she had been weeping over the body of the other man, with whom she clearly had a deep connection (some small part of his brain wondered just how deep that connection was). Now he understood that she had indeed been _acting_, holding herself together by the threads; underneath she was mourning. Without turning around to face her, he quietly said, "There is too much bedrock here to bury him. There's a river nearby. I will have Dwalin and Dori bring his body. It is not much, but it is all we can do."

He left before she could say something in return, without turning around to look at the woman. If he had, he would have noticed her shocked expression, and maybe, just maybe, he might have noticed the tears in her eyes.

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><p>Gemma wasn't exactly sure what she believed in; if anyone asked she said she was Christian, because her father had raised her as a Christian, but they had never been much of church-goers. Sure, she hoped there was a God and an afterlife, but her abundance of terrible life experiences had given her some doubts.<p>

Patrick Chang, on the other hand, had been strictly religious. It seemed horribly unjust; he would have wanted a proper burial, while she wouldn't have cared. This would be ungraceful, unceremonious, and quick, but hopefully it would provide some sort of dignity. This was the traveller's funeral; certainly not up to standard but the best anyone could possibly do in this place and this situation.

Gemma might not have been a church-goer, but she had been to her fair share of funerals, though none like this. The two dwarves that Thorin had spoken of, Dwalin and Dori, she remembered, carried the body to the river's edge, and then joined the rest of the Company standing a respectful distance away. Gemma knelt by Patrick's head. She simply stared for a moment, before a memory tugged at her mind.

Gemma didn't know any funeral prayers, and was sure that she would mess them up if she attempted to recite one. Instead, she whispered to Patrick's body, "Do you remember when we first met?" She smiled through the tears in her eyes. "I was going in for my interview with Parker to become part of the C.T.U. and we shared an elevator together. And of course, through my infinitely bad luck, our elevator got stuck. I was in such a panic, so worried that I would never get the job because I was late. And you said to me _'everything, good and bad, happens for a reason'_." She coughed out a tiny chuckle at the memory. "And then you pulled out a pack of cards and we played poker for an hour on the elevator floor. I got the job because you insisted to Parker that I was the best, and just like that we were partners and best friends. And I always thought you were _so_ right. Everything happens for a reason; our experiences shape who we are, good or bad, and it's up to us to take what we're given and turn it into something good." She held his body a little tighter, and her voice became a little more wobbly. "But what could be the reason behind this? Whatever it is it's not worth it. I need you, Pat. My best friend, my brother. I'm sorry that I could never love you the way you loved me, but that doesn't mean I didn't love you at all. I hope you know that, wherever you are."

Gemma sucked in a breath and then whispered, "_Que Dieu veille sur toi_." It was a prayer that her father used to say to her each night before bed when she was little. The meaning still applied.

With a heave, she rolled the body into the river and watched it float downstream. Then Gemma rose, brushing the dirt off her hands and knees before turning around.

She found Thorin's eyes, watching her, and simply gave him a nod of appreciation. There were no tears and no words. He nodded back, understanding. Perhaps she had been wrong about him, Gemma thought.

Maybe they could get along after all.

**AN:**

**Nope. Gemma and Thorin will definitely not get along. It's going to be a long and bumpy road for them.**

**"Que Dieu veille sur toi" is French for "May God watch over you".**

**In case you haven't noticed the hints I've started to drop, Gemma's had several bad things happen to her in the past. She's also got a secret. Answers won't come for a while, or all at once, but I'd love to hear any guesses.**

**I'm seeing BOTFA tonight! I'm geeking out so hard right now! Ahh! I can't wait to see what doors the final movie will open up for this story.**

**Review?**


	6. Hatred Wanes

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own The Hobbit.**

Chapter 6: Hatred Wanes

_There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other_

_ –J. K. Rowling_

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><p>"You...you chauvinistic jackass!"<p>

Well, so much for getting along. Their new travelling companion had been with them for a week, and Thorin's relationship with her had grown steadily worse. Gemma LaRoche was absolutely _infuriating_.

"What is wrong now?" Gandalf asked, looking for all the world like an exhausted grandfather chastising two bickering siblings.

"Listen, Mr. King of the Hill," Gemma ignored Gandalf, whirling around to get right in Thorin's face. "I don't know what it's like in your world, but in my world women are equals, and I'm not going to put up with your repulsively bigoted attitude!"

"My attitude?! You have no manners and no respect!"

"I have manners," Gemma yelled at him, "I'm just not some reserved little woman who lets men push her around, because I'm a fucking twenty-first century American!" She stalked off towards the forest, but stopped at the edge of the tree line. "And as for respect, you'll get it when you earn it!" She stomped into the trees, grumbling, in a way that would almost be comical if Thorin wasn't so mad.

"What did you do?" Kili asked him. It just made Thorin even angrier; they'd only known her a week and his nephews were siding against him.

"We exchanged words... I called her a wench." Kili and Fili looked shocked.

"Uncle, you can't use those words," Fili implored, "they're archaic and misogynistic."

Thorin stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Fili shrunk back a bit. "I'm not really sure what that means, but that's what Gemma said."

That was the last straw for Thorin. He threw his hands in the air in exasperation, and stomped off in the opposite direction, grumbling to himself in Kuzdul. He didn't realize that he had mimicked Gemma's own reaction exactly.

Coming to a stop by the river's edge, Thorin found the rock he had occupied only minutes earlier, again taking a seat. Dusk had fallen and the mosquitoes flitted around his head, thankfully not bothering to try to bite his thick dwarvish skin. Thorin's mind inevitably delved into the events of the past week.

After that fateful morning when they found her (or, rather, she had found them), they had ridden on through the afternoon with no delays, making up for the extra time spent at the troll camp. The woman, who absolutely insisted that they not refer to her as Lady ("Seriously, just Gemma, or La Roche!"), rode with Gandalf in silence. When they finally set up camp for the night and were tucking into dinner, she stood and apologized to the company for her "unprofessional behaviour" that morning, claiming that she had simply been a "rollercoaster of emotions". Then, of course, Fili and Kili had asked what a rollercoaster was, completely sidetracking the conversation. Still, Thorin appreciated her apology, though it wasn't really an apology, per say. She had said it in such a matter-of-fact way that he could tell she was trying to save face and gain back some of her pride, while trying to smooth things over and start fresh with the company. It felt like something he would do, which somehow took away some of his suspicion and dislike of her, making it somewhat easier for him to tolerate the next topic of conversation; the story of their secret quest.

Balin, dramatic old dwarf that he was, told the story in glorified detail from the fall of Erebor, to the meeting at Bag End, and even up to the company's encounter with the mountain trolls.

Gemma was a good listener, nodding at the right moments and giving the storyteller her full attention. When Balin concluded the tale, there was a long pause, and then she said "So when you say dragon... you mean like the scales-and-wings kind of dragon, correct?"

The ever-helpful Bofur chimed in, "Aye, a huge fire-breathing monstrosity too." He snickered cheekily. "Think furnace with wings." Nori, who stood beside Bofur, gave him a sharp whack on the shoulder. Gemma went white as a ghost at the comment, but held up much better than Bilbo had.

"Right," she said with a slight grimace, "just making sure."

Thorin had thought she took the story remarkably well. In fact, he rather admired how she had handled this entire situation. Not that he would admit that, even to himself.

The next two days brought little excitement and a lot more rain. Gemma had taken on an attitude quite different from how she had been the first day. She was quiet, uncomplaining, and actually quite helpful. It wasn't until the fourth day that Thorin realized she had simply been trying to make up for her first impression and earn her keep. On the fourth day she started to become more comfortable and some of her personality started to show through her conciliatory persona. It was also the first day they had argued.

Her first night with the company, Thorin had decided that Gemma should assist Bombur with the cooking, ignoring her warning that she was an abysmal cook (she had cited "takeout" and "microwave dinners" as the cause of this, though, like half of the words that came out of her mouth, they made no sense to Thorin). It soon became apparent that he should have listened to her warning, and Bombur demoted Gemma to vegetable slicing duty. The cooking debacle had caused a minor argument itself, because the dwarves could not understand how a woman could possibly be such a horrible cook. So Gemma spent the next three evenings simply hacking away at vegetables with an oversized, machete-like knife. By the fourth night she had had enough, and was comfortable enough to voice her opinion.

Gemma had marched up to Thorin that night and requested to keep watch. Thorin denied the request, just as he had every night before. Gemma had been angry. She felt that he and the other dwarves had been giving her special treatment because she was a woman, which, to be honest, they had. "I realize you might not trust me enough to do the watch, even with a partner," she had said to him, "but at least let me help with carrying the firewood or _anything_ other than chopping veggies. I have some skills, you know."

They had fought, both getting very worked up, but eventually he'd agreed that she could do more things around the camp. He wasn't very happy about it, but she was very persuasive.

After that, things just got worse. The two of them seemed to be able to fight about anything and everything, always seeming to hold opposing views; she had started a long argument about the horrible effects smoking tobacco had on one's health, and he had provoked a fight about the fact that she was constantly tapping her foot in the most annoying way. Sometimes it seemed as though they were purposely trying to get under each other's skin, and their dominance issues had blown out of proportion. Maybe it was the fact that both of them were too headstrong and tenacious to allow anything to be left alone when they thought they could do it better. Maybe it was the fact that they both just liked to lead rather than follow. Thorin didn't even remember what had started their argument earlier that evening by the river.

What really bothered him, however, was that the rest of the company had all been roped in by Gemma LaRoche. His nephews gravitated towards her almost immediately, attracted to her strangeness and rudeness and humour and, well, _her_. They, along with Bofur and Bilbo, were captivated by her fantastical stories from her world, which she told each night at the edge of the campfire, about computers and cartoons, World Wars and weapons of mass destruction, electricity and elevators, microwaves and movies and motorcycles. A well placed compliment about his cooking landed Gemma in Bombur's good books almost immediately, despite her being a completely feckless cook. Gandalf just seemed to like her for no reason at all, though he had no idea what they discussed while riding together. Even Dwalin seemed to be warming up to her. Thorin had seen Gemma teaching him some sort of fighting move, which involved smashing the heel of one's hand up into their enemy's nose. Dwalin had actually cracked a smile when he got the motion right, which, for Dwalin, was quite the accomplishment on Gemma's part. The other dwarves seemed to appreciate her rude humour and the fact that she could chug a bottle of beer with no hands, a skill she'd picked up during her short time in "college", she'd claimed, not that Thorin knew what that was.

But, Mahal, Thorin just couldn't stand her. She was just so ... different from anything he had ever encountered. Every word from her mouth seemed to surprise him. He had no idea how to deal with her. He was just glad that he would be rid of her once they brought her to Gandalf's friend.  
>Thorin didn't realize it, but his pacing had turned to walking, and he had circled the camp through the forest, ending up closer to the direction Gemma had gone. It was for this reason that he heard the scream, loud enough to jolt him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he took off in the direction it had come from.<p>

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><p>"Stupid dwarf..." she huffed. Gemma was so angry, and frustrated, and...ugh! She kicked the trunk of a large oak tree in an attempt to relieve some of her anger. All it did was make her foot hurt. A lot. She squeezed her hands into fists. God, this whole situation was so messed up. So frustrated was she, that she didn't hear the man come up behind her until he was on her. Her attacker pushed her up against a tree, covering her mouth before she could shriek. Recovering from her surprise, Gemma delivered a hard stomp to his foot. He didn't release her, but his grip loosened. It was enough, and Gemma spun around to follow through with a right hook to the jaw. The man dropped like a stone. When Gemma looked up though, she realised her attacker wasn't alone. Five other large men in dark masks stared back at her. Gemma had just enough time to scream for help before they swarmed her. The men pushed her up against the tree again, this time binding her hands around the trunk and with rope and tying her feet together.<p>

No, no, this couldn't be happening. Her arms were stretched and immobilized. It felt just like… her vision shifted and blurred, and it took all Gemma's will power just to keep her mind from drifting away into nightmarish territories. The last thing she needed now was to be trapped in the throes of her broken mind.

"Feisty thin' aren' yeh?" the biggest one, presumably the leader, said. "Malcolm, check on Davis, eh?" One of the men nodded and went to their fallen comrade. "Now, let's 'ave a look in them pockets, darlin'. Got anythin' pretty?" Muggers, lovely, Gemma thought. The men pulled at her clothes, grabbed her gun, phone, and certain body parts that she did _not_ want touched. "Guess not. Don' know wha' these thin's are. But you's a pretty thin' yourself, tha' for sure."

Oh please let someone come, she prayed.

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><p>Thorin crashed through the forest, finally coming to the horrid scene. There was Gemma, pushed up against a massive oak tree with her hands and legs bound, four men groping her body. There was another man leaning over a sixth, who appeared to be unconscious. Thorin could only guess that was the work of Miss LaRoche, and the thought almost made him smile. Instead, he let out a roar and charged the men, Orcrist drawn. He whacked the first over the head with the hilt of his sword, swinging around to slice a second in the gut. From the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Gemma butted her head into another, who was distracted by Thorin's arrival. He stumbled back into Thorin's waiting blade. Another followed when Gemma braced her back against the tree and kicked him with both her legs, which were still bound together. The final one, the big leader, drew his own sword, and he a Thorin circled each other, waiting to strike. Neither one ever did, for Gemma had managed to work her hands free and threw herself at him, wrapping him in a sleeper hold. She drove her fingers into the pressure point at his neck while slowly lowering him to the ground, on which he slumped, unconscious.<p>

Gemma fell on top of the mugger, feet still bound. Thorin was at her side in an instant, slicing the restraints and pulling her to her feet. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Gemma let out a strangled chuckle, which Thorin couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Thanks," Gemma said with a genuine smile, and Thorin returned that too.

"Let's head back," was all he said, and they started back to camp.

"You know, I still think you're a jerk," Gemma told him as they walked, and Thorin almost laughed. This little debacle hadn't changed the fact that she still infuriated him either, but he now saw that she was indeed a valuable asset. And, if he were truthful, they made a pretty good team, in a fight at least. Not at any other time. Still, he knew she felt it too.

He decided to simply answer with an incoherent "hmpf", and after that they continued their walk back in silence.

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><p><strong>AN:**

**So I saw BOTFA on New Year's Eve. While it did have some faults, I thought it was pretty awesome. Ever since, I've been writing up a storm. Thankfully it didn't conflict with anything I've planned, and I now have an entire outline for the rest of this story.**

**Thank you again for the lovely reviews, please keep them coming. They make my week. One reviewer mentioned the unsavoury language in the chapters. Guys, I barely ever swear in real life, honest. For some reason though, all my original characters can swear like sailors. I blame **_**The Catcher in the Rye**_**, which I have been reading throughout the process of writing this. Anyone who has read that fabulous novel knows that there's a curse word just about every other sentence.**

**I had a few guesses as to what Gemma's secret is, but none were close. Maybe secret isn't the right word. It's more like a problem; she's hiding something. Think less fantastical and more… terrible. I like to torture my OCs.**


	7. Different, But the Same

**A/N: Another chapter, this time all Gemma's POV. It's mostly filler, but I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The Hobbit does not belong to me.**

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><p>Chapter 7: Different, But the Same<p>

_We're the same, you and me. We're the same, don't you see?_

–_Falling Down (1993)_

After the situation with the muggers, the tension between Gemma and Thorin eased up slightly. They no longer got into colossal arguments; instead, they bickered, constantly. Thankfully the terrain they were travelling had begun to flatten out, so the Company was able to ride longer and farther, keeping the two separated for the most part. It was during one of these long riding stretches that Gandalf brought up a rather unexpected topic of conversation.

Gemma was still huffing over a particularly infuriating comment Thorin had just made. Gandalf couldn't hold in his chuckle. From her place behind him on his horse (for all the other mounts were ponies that were much too small to carry Gemma for any length of time) Gemma indignantly asked, "Just what is it that you find so amusing?"

This just made Gandalf's grin grow wider, and he was glad the woman was behind him and could not see it. They had become fast friends, and he was not above goading her. "Just the fact that you and Master Oakenshield are so similar, my dear," he replied cheekily.

If she had been drinking, Gemma would have done a spit-take. As it was, she opened and closed her mouth several times and sputtered, so that she ended up looking like a rather surprised goldfish.

"I... have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, old man. Grumpy and I couldn't be further opposites."

Gandalf just shook his head. Gemma always brought out the nicknames when she was scrambling for a defense. "Are you sure? To me it seems quite obvious. You may have very different points of view, but you are certainly alike. Perhaps that is why you do not get on well?" he pondered.

"Bofur!" Gemma called to the dwarf riding behind them. He pulled his horse up alongside them. "Dumbledore here thinks that Oaky and I are really similar. I told him he's losing his marbles. What do you think?"

Bofur worked his jaw, pondering the question. "Well," he began slowly, "you are both incredibly stubborn, aren't yah?"

Gemma almost argued, but that would have just proven his point.

"And, you're both fighters. And leaders. Um... oh and you're proud, and opinionated, and brave..."

"Alright, fine, so we're sort of alike. But he's also a bit of an arrogant bastard," Gemma tried to argue.

"And you're much more dramatic than he is," Gandalf supplied with a smirk. Gemma threw her hands up in exasperation, before realising she was, in fact, being dramatic.

Lucky for her, she was saved the embarrassment of continuing the conversation when there was a commotion up ahead.

"Stick together! Hurry now, arm yourselves!" Gandalf called. The Company tensed, preparing for attack, when out of the wood burst the most peculiar little man Gemma had ever seen. He wore brown robes and a matching hat, with wild eyes and a beard full of twigs, plus what appeared to be a large smear of bird droppings on the side of his head. Not to mention the fact that he was riding a sled pulled by rabbits. Gemma thought he resembled a crazy half-brother of Santa Claus.

"Thieves! Liars! Murderers!" the man screeched, a feral light in his eyes. In Gemma's experience, that look generally meant the person was, to put it in technical terms, bat-shit crazy.

Her eyes unconsciously drifted to Thorin's and she sent him a look that said _let's get the heck out of here before this guy tries to murder us all with a spoon_. Thorin sent back a look of his own that clearly said he agreed, though he probably hadn't discerned the spoon part. Gandalf, on the other hand, had different plans.

"Radagast? Radagast the Brown, what are you doing here?" he asked with a slight smile.

At that, the man seemed to focus then, and became relieved upon noticing Gandalf. "I've been looking for you, Gandalf! Something is terribly wrong!" he proclaimed.

The Company all waited expectantly for him to continue, but he did not. After a lapse of silence Gandalf uncertainly asked, "Yes...?"

Radagast seemed to become frustrated and scrunched his nose in thoughtful concentration. "Oh...Just give me a minute. I had the thought and now I've lost it! It was right there on the tip of my tongue." He opened his mouth as if to demonstrate exactly where that thought was, only to exclaim, "Oh!" and reach into his mouth. "It wasn't a thought at all. It's a little old stick insect!" He pulled the bug out and held it up, like a proud little toddler showing a brand new toy to his friends. The Company wrinkled their noses in synchronization. At least this Radagast wasn't the madman he had first appeared.

Gandalf shook his head in amusement, and gestured for the Company to dismount. "Radagast, let's continue our conversation in private, shall we?" The brown wizard nodded and they moved off to the side, where Radagast began whispering harshly and making wild hand gestures.

The rest of the Company secured their horses quickly and unload some of their things to set about having a quick midday meal. Gemma grabbed her whole bag and lugged it over to a stump, where she rooted through it for a lighter sweater, as it had grown warmer. Despite being autumn, likely the Middle-Earth equivalent of September or early October, the weather was particularly mild. Turning her back to the others, she quickly pulled off her F.B.I windbreaker and the thick hoodie and button-up shirt underneath, replacing them with a light gray thin-knit sweater, over which she donned her bullet proof vest. It would keep her warm enough and still protected without making her sweat like a dog. Then she pulled out her gun, and, having nothing better to do while she waited for the food to be ready and Gandalf to return, began to clean it. As she was using the bore brush on the inside of the barrel, she heard the quiet pad of approaching footsteps. She didn't need to look up to know who it was; no dwarf was that light on their feet.

"How goes it, Bilbo?" Gemma asked as he sat down beside her. When he didn't reply, she finally looked up. Everything about his body language screamed nervousness and discomfort. Gemma carefully reassembled her half cleaned gun and holstered it before placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's up?" she asked quietly.

"I guess... well I didn't think this was what an adventure would be like. All this travelling, constantly moving in case we're followed; it's making me paranoid. And when you were attacked... well, nothing so awful has ever happened to anyone in the Shire. You must have been dreadfully frightened. Though I guess you wouldn't be. You and Thorin and the rest are all so fearless. I would be scared half to death. But then... I'm frightened by nearly everything. I suppose the others are right: I'm just not cut out for this adventuring business." He ranted, ending with a shameful shake of his head.

"I _was_ frightened. Anyone in their right mind would be. And I'm certainly not fearless, not by a long shot. I just have more… experience, I suppose. Courage isn't about not being afraid of anything; it's about how you act in spite of being afraid. And from what I heard, you took on those mountain trolls single-handedly and outsmarted them all. That took guts for sure. You have just as much right to be part of this Company as I do. Probably more, actually," Gemma told him firmly.

Bilbo gave her a shy smile. "Well... it wasn't exactly hard to outsmart those trolls. They didn't have much going on up there." He gestured to his head, and the two of them chuckled.

"May I interrupt?" Gemma and Bilbo looked up to see Thorin standing over them.

"Um yes, I should...um... I was just going to get some food." Bilbo stuttered. "Right, um, goodbye Miss LaRoche... I mean Gemma." Gemma shot him a wry smile and wink as he hastily left.

"I brought you some food," Thorin said, handing Gemma a plate with dried meat and bread as he took the spot beside her that Bilbo occupied.

Gemma eyed him suspiciously. "Uh, thanks?" she said, assembling the food into a sandwich and taking a bite. Thorin just watched her as she chewed slowly, and she watched him. She swallowed and said, "Okay, I'll bite, what do you want?"

Thorin actually smiled, just barely. Gemma decided he should do it more often. "Was I that transparent?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Well you brought me a sandwich, asked politely to sit down, and you just smiled, sort of. You must want something big if you're actually being nice to me. I'm just telling you now; you're not getting my first-born."

"Why on earth would I want your first-born child?" Thorin asked, utterly baffled.

"Nothing, never mind, it was just a joke. Besides, I don't plan on having any kids. Anyway, what did you need?"

"I merely want to talk." Thorin looked off towards the two wizards, still in deep conversation. "What do you think of this newcomer, Radagast?" He asked without looking at her.

"Oh, is that all? Jeez, I thought it would be something really important. I mean, you brought me a _sandwich_. It's no Schwartz's, but it isn't half bad." She took another bite of her sandwich, taking her time to ponder his question before saying, "Um, I don't know, he seems harmless enough. He's got a slight limp in his left leg, a weak knee I think. Not sure if he's all there, if you know what I mean, but looks can be deceiving. Not to mention he's a wizard. But Gandalf trusts him, and I doubt he would remember the details of your quest even if you were to tell him. Seems like he's been hitting the mushrooms a bit too hard." She cocked her head and looked Thorin square in the eye. "Why do you care what I think anyway?" Gemma was slightly shocked that he would want her opinion.

"Isn't this what you said you do? Investigate, figure people out. I'm sure the rest of my company would simply pass him off as strange, or only size him up on physicality. I can tell that you are a good judge of character; you have that look in your eyes." Thorin said all this with the utmost sincerity.

Gemma was a bit shocked. "Wow, Thorin Oakenshield giving _me_ a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head, woman," he growled back, but with less malice than normal.

"Are you sick? Have you been hearing voices? Are you feeling feverish?"

"Mahal, forgot I said anything!"

"Wait, if I'm a good judge of character, what does that say about you, considering I called you a jackass?"

Thorin didn't reply, but he didn't leave. Gemma looked back to the two wizards. Radagast was waving his hands vigorously in the air, like he was trying to hail a cab in New York. A slightly terrifying thought crossed Gemma's mind. "Oh God, you don't think Radagast is the "friend" Gandalf wanted me to see? I mean, not to be judgmental or anything, but that wouldn't exactly get my hopes up."

Thorin shook his head. "No, I believe I know who this _friend_ is, if my suspicions are correct," he replied. He said the word _friend_ with an air of disgust.

Gemma was just about to ask who this friend way when, for the second time in a matter of minutes, something large, brown, and furry surprised the company. A massive wolf-like animal jumped down on them from the ridge above. Thorin brought his sword up in a flash, skewering the beast as it fell on them, knocking them both to the ground.

With a heave, Gemma managed to roll the beast off. Turning around, she came nose to nose, quite literally, with Thorin, as she was lying on top of him.

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><p><strong>AN: So this update is coming a bit later, but I'm surprised I got it out this week at all. The whole week has been hell. Winter's finally hit hard here; there's an Arctic air mass moving in, and it's currently -22 degrees Celsius with wind chill here (that's colder than it is on Mars!). Plus, I'm up to my eyeballs in school projects, work, and personal issues. I've been stress-eating like crazy, thank God I have an overactive metabolism.**

**Speaking of which, a note on the reference to _Schwartz's_: this is a real deli/diner in Montreal (Canada, in case you didn't know). It doesn't look like much, but it makes the best smoked meat sandwiches you'll ever taste. If you ever travel there, make sure you check it out.**

**In other matters, you guys are the best! Thanks so much for the lovely reviews, I had a bunch for last chapter. I'm glad you guys like Gemma swearing, there's a lot more to come. I had a few more guesses about what Gemma is hiding, one somewhat close, but not quite there. More hints will come soon. The next few chapters will be more exciting, I promise.**


	8. Danse Macabre

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit. Are you surprised?**

Chapter 8: Danse Macabre

_Never give a sword to a man who can't dance._

–_Confucius_

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><p>They just stared at each other for a second, as if God had hit the pause button. <em>Wow<em>, she thought, _his eyes are really blue_. Like hydrangea flowers or water in a swimming pool. Then she realized what she was thinking and whom it was about, as well as which body parts were pressed _much_ too close against his, and sprang up from the ground. Thorin followed, recovering from his shock.

"Nice reflexes there, Oaky," she commented with her usual smirk. He scowled. There, everything was back to normal. "What the hell is that thing anyway?" Gemma asked, looking down at the truly terrifying beast.

"Is that a wolf?" Bilbo asked as the rest of the Company and the two wizards rushed over.

"Wolves, no, that is not a wolf," Bofur said, lacking his usual humour. The whole Company seemed to simultaneously look around, and thankfully so, as Kili was able to spot the second creature approaching. He shot it in the throat just as it pounced. Thorin swung his blade again, finishing the job.

"Warg scouts," Thorin growled, "which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?!" Bilbo demanded, but was ignored.

Gandalf rounded on Thorin. "Who did you tell about your quest, aside from your kin?"

"No one," Thorin answered.

"Who did you tell?!" Gandalf shouted with terrifying force.

"No one, I swear." Gemma could hear the slightest bit of panic in his voice. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

Gandalf gave him a hard look before replying, "You are being hunted."

It was precisely at this moment that Ori burst into the group to deliver more bad news. "The ponies are all gone!"

Thorin's eyes widened in panic and Gemma was reminded that he was the leader of this quest; he was responsible for all of them. At a moment like this, she wouldn't want to be him for all the money in the world. Gemma grabbed her bag and strapped it to her back, then pulled out her gun and snapped the safety off, the sound breaking everyone out of their shocked inaction.

"What's the plan then?" she asked, mostly just to get them all back on track. In times like this, she lost her humour and developed tunnel vision, entirely focused on the matter at hand. Her colleagues used to tell her that it was like she transformed into another person; serious, hyperaware, and, when she needed to be, ruthless.

"I can lead us out of here; I know a safe place close by. We will just have to avoid the orcs," Gandalf said. The strange look that passed over Thorin's face at the mention of the "safe place" did not go unnoticed by Gemma, but she made no comment.

"I shall distract them and buy you some time," Radagast declared, hoping onto his rabbit sled.  
>"Those are Gundabag wargs!" Gandalf exclaimed, "They will outrun you!"<p>

Radagast smirked. "These are Rhosgobel rabbits; I'd like to see them try!" and with that he took off, at a speed that no normal rabbit should be able to run.

Gemma decided that he was actually pretty awesome.

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><p>Thorin could barely contain his panic. He had hoped that the journey would be relatively smooth; their task once they reached the mountain would be hard enough. Yet, already they had encountered mountain trolls, a strange wizard, and now, wargs and orcs. Oh, and a traveller from an entirely different world. The quest seemed doomed to be treacherous, and now they knew someone was after them all.<p>

Gandalf and Thorin lead the group out into an open, grassy area of hills, studded sporadically with large rock formations. Gemma had fallen to the back, watching with her little contraption raised in preparation. Or at least, she was when he had last looked. Radagast had just lead the orcs and wargs past them and away again, and as the Company broke into a run she came up beside Thorin.

"What the hell are those things? _Those_ are orcs?" Her presence at his side made him jump. Gemma legs, much longer than the rest of the company's, had allowed her to catch up quickly. Thorin just nodded in answer to her questions. The group stopped at a large boulder, crouching low and flattening themselves to the side. "Well, they are _freaky_. What's their armour like? Will my bullets go through? "

Thorin wanted to yell at her to stop asking all these question, but he then heard a sound from above them; a warg and its rider were perched there. Thorin covered Gemma's mouth with his hand, silently pointing upwards to the group. He gave Kili a look, to which his nephew returned a nod and readied his bow. Taking a deep breath, Kili pushed off the rock and into a crouch, shooting two arrows in rapid succession, one for the warg and one for its rider. Both creates topple down to where the Company hid, and the dwarves sprang on them to finish the job.  
>Thorin, still covering Gemma's mouth, saw her eyebrows knit together in— confusion? Worry? He couldn't quite tell but he knew that when they shot up and her eyes went wide she had figures something out. Gemma pried his hand from her face to whisper harshly, "Wait, you've got to get the—," but it was too late. Most of the dwarves had attacked the orc first, meaning the warg was not yet dead. The beast managed to let out a piercing howl before Dwalin split its skull.<p>

Swearing under his breath, Thorin pulled Gemma and Bilbo up from their crouched positions, and with that, they were running again, this time actually being chased.

"Move! Run!" Gandalf called, as if they needed to be told.

Thorin saw the direction he was steering them. He had a bad feeling about this. "Where are you leading us?!" he yelled back, but received no answer from the wizard.

"There they are!" someone yelled.

"This way, quickly!" Gandalf urged back.

Thorin looked over his shoulder as their pursuers gained ground. Gemma had stayed near the back again, attempting to urge Bilbo and Bombur along faster. His eyes connected with hers again, just for a moment, before he heard Kili yell to him, "There's more coming!"

"Kili, shoot them!" Thorin ordered, voice tinged with panic.

"We're surrounded!" Fili called as Kili release the first arrow.

Thorin looked to Gandalf to see what he had to say, but the wizard was no longer at his side. The others noticed too.

"Where's Gandalf?" Kili shouted.

"He has abandoned us!" Dwalin growled back.

Bilbo mumbled something along the lines of "Gandalf would never do that." Thorin wasn't really listening. He had turned and was watching the approaching orcs. Blood rushed in his ears and his fingers tingled as he drew his new elven sword. He was consumed in that pre-battle feeling; that adrenaline mixed with a slight bit of fear, just enough to set him on edge. He relished in the feeling.

"Hold your ground," Thorin ordered. Taking his stance, he counted in his head as the orcs came closer, nearly upon them. _Three…two…_

BANG!

Just as Thorin made to leap into battle, the sound assaulted his ears. It brought everyone, even their enemies, up short, frozen. His ears rang from the noise; it was like the world had been ripped open, blown apart, violent death described by sound. The scene was nearly comical; orcs and dwarves alike frozen with weapons raised, wargs looking like scared pups. They all watched as a single orc slumped forward, a gruesome hole blasted right through its brain, utterly dead. Thorin and the others slowly followed the line of fire with their eyes, all the way to the end of Gemma LaRoche's tiny, seemingly useless weapon, which she held pointing forward in both hands, her stance solid. Thorin, in his completely shocked state, unconsciously met her eyes; they were hard as steel. It was a look he had not seen on her before, even when she had attacked him. Then, they had been wild; now they were unwavering, unfeeling. The look soon changed to one of complete disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing?! Fight them!" she screamed.

The bonds of shock broke, and the dwarves rushed their enemies again. Thorin stabbed and whirled and slashed, fighting with the grace of a dancer. Somehow, completely unintentionally, he found himself back to back with Gemma. They fought like a unit, even more in sync than when they fought the muggers. They anticipated each other's moves instinctually; Thorin switched sides to catch an orc blade aimed at Gemma's head, and Gemma let off another two deafening blasts at a fast approaching warg, catching it in the side. The creature collapsed, not quite dead but close enough. If Thorin was a lone dancer before, Thorin and Gemma were now practiced dance partners.

They were pulled from their _danse macabre_ by the sound of Gandalf's call. "This way, you fools!" He appeared from a hidden passage in the nearby rock.

"Come on, move!" Thorin urged. "Quickly, all of you." The dwarves began jumping down the passage, Thorin and Gemma pushing them through. Thorin cut down another warg, but more were approaching quickly. He looked back to see Kili, still firing arrows, a good hundred metres out. "Kili, run!" His nephew turned and sprinted towards him, oblivious to the orc approaching from the side. Gemma, from her crouched position at the mouth of the tunnel, fired another shot, narrowly missing Kili to hit the orc fatally in the neck. The young dwarf charged past them, right down into the passage. Thorin gave Gemma a nod of thanks, which she answered with a lopsided smile, and then they both slid down the hole together.

Gemma helped Thorin up, brushing the dirt from his shoulders without even realizing what she was doing. The tender action took Thorin by surprise, and, for reasons he could not comprehend, his chest seemed to tighten. The din of a horn from above interrupted his thoughts. The Company listened in silence, trying to discern what was happening up here. Thorin thought the horn sounded familiar, and his chest tightened for a different reason; one he entirely understood. Suddenly, a body tumbled down as if falling from the sky. Gemma leapt back, right into Thorin's chest, with a barely audible gasp. Thorin steadied her and moved to look at the body. His suspicions were confirmed; the body was of an orc, slain with a silver arrow in its neck, which he removed. The arrow was of elven make. "Elves," he stated with thinly veiled disgust, glaring at Gandalf.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," Dwalin called. "Do we follow it, or no?"

"Follow it, of course," Bofur replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Thorin reluctantly followed, not missing the questioning look that passed between Gemma and Bilbo before they fell into step behind him. Neither of them had met an elf before, and neither knew much of the feud between races.

They would find out soon enough.

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><p><strong>AN: I didn't really know how to end this chapter. Or write this chapter. Action scenes are hard. Anyway, we're finally back to the actual plot. This will start moving quickly from here. One of my favourite chapters is coming soon, chapter 10 I believe (just for a little teaser, imagine Gemma drunk), but it's also going to be a bit of a weird chapter. I have to fix up a few things, but expect new updates soon.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys make my day. I got a lot of comments about the humour; I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it! Also, thanks to everyone following, favouriting, and just reading.**

**I don't think there were any hints in this chapter about Gemma's secret or her past, but a few things will be revealed soon. And if you guys are feeling that Gemma is a bit all over the place, that's not because I'm a terrible writer. Gemma's got some issues, and she's sort of stretched herself to the limit.**


	9. Play Pretend

**I'm supposed to be studying for my exams at the moment. Oops. Here's a super long chapter for you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Hobbit**_**, obviously.**

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><p>Chapter 9: Play Pretend<p>

_I think most people are more susceptible to prejudice than to reason._

–_Roger Ebert_

The company made their way down the tunnel, feet dragging from exhaustion. The adrenaline had departed Gemma's system, leaving behind only sluggish movements and the desire to rest for a little while without anything else going wrong. It seemed as if everything had been moving at a break-neck speed since she arrived in Middle Earth; funny, because before that, everything had been going so slowly. But now she just needed it all to slow down.

And that's when they saw it; a village tucked into the rock, easily the most beautiful place she'd ever imagined. Gemma was fairly certain her mouth hung open in a completely ridiculous way (she was probably even worse than Bilbo, who looked like a kid in a candy store) but it was like her prayer had been answered, in an amazing, heaven-on-earth kind of way, complete with sparkling waterfalls and gardens that you could fall asleep in. Total peace. And all Gemma could think was, _Thank God; somewhere I can take a bath_. Seriously, she needed one, pronto.

"The valley of Imladris. In the Common Tongue it's known by another name," Gandalf said.

"Rivendell," Bilbo gasped.

"This was your plan all along," Thorin growled at Gandalf, "to seek refuge with our enemy."

Gemma frowned. Enemy? She hoped the people here weren't enemies. She _really_ wanted that bath. _And a bed… and food that isn't oatmeal or stew… and some alone time. Oh please let these "elves" be friendly._

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself," Gandalf shot back at Thorin. Gemma and Bilbo raised their eyebrows at each other. When Thorin was mad, that meant bad news; when Gandalf was mad, that was even worse.

"You think the elves will give us their blessing? They'll try to stop us," Thorin said.

"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered," Gandalf replied, before looking past Thorin to Gemma, "and a friend that needs help getting home." Thorin turned to look at Gemma as well, sending her an icy glare, as if all of this was suddenly her fault, which was completely unfair. Gandalf walked by the group, saying "If we are to be successful, this must be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me." Gemma smirked at that, but Gandalf caught it and said, "That goes for you as well, Ms. LaRoche." She saw that Thorin nearly smirked back at her, but caught himself and sent her another glare.

The Company made their way into the valley, crossing a bridge into a round open courtyard. They were met by what was easily the prettiest person Gemma had ever laid eyes on. The man, no, elf, had long hair, high cheekbones, and a tall and willowy figure, standing at least as tall as she. The pointed ears and arching eyebrows completed the surreal-looking being. As Gandalf conversed with this elf, whom he clearly knew, Gemma inched her way to Thorin's side. "Hey," she whispered in his ear. He ignored her. "Look, I don't know why you don't want to be here, but I'm sorry if it's my fault we're here. I never meant to interrupt your quest. I mean, it's not really my fault, and I think it's kind of unfair that you're blaming me, but…" Gemma trailed off as Thorin studiously ignored her. "Fine," she threw her hands in the air and walked away. If he wanted to be childish, that was his problem. She had really just wanted him to tell her why he didn't want to be here. What was so bad about elves?

A hunting horn sounded and the dwarfs crowded together, weapons drawn. Gemma found herself stuck in the middle of the pack, being covered from the approaching elves on horseback by the company's leader. Her hand went to her gun, but she caught Gandalf's glaze and he gave her a look that said everything was alright. The dwarfs were just overreacting; they must _really_ dislike elves. Still, she didn't like the way the elves circled the company, like hawks circling mice. If it came to it, she would side with the dwarves, always.

Gandalf was greeted by a dark-haired elf with truly impressive eyebrows. Then Thorin stepped forward.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain," the elf called Lord Elrond said.

"I do not think we've met," Thorin replied.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew him when he ruled."

"Indeed? He made no mention of you." Gemma winced at the venom in Thorin's voice. It was even worse than what normally tinged his voice when he spoke to her. _Don't blow this, Grumpy_.

She decided to step in before Thorin said anything that could get them all killed. "Erm… hello," she said with a small, awkward wave. Elrond's sharp eyes focused on her, his gaze making her want to squirm. "I'm Gemma LaRoche, and I believe that Gandalf and I have a number of things to discuss with you, if you are the wise friend he spoke so fondly of." Yes, she was laying the charm on thickly. "My friends and I have been through quite the journey already, we were hoping you'd be kind enough to gift us with your counsel." The elf smiled at her, reached forward, and kissed her hand. I've still got it, she thought to herself with satisfaction.

Elrond replied with foreign words, and Gloin, from behind her, shouted "What's he sayin'? Does he offer us insults?" The dwarves grumbled and stamped angrily at this.

"No," Gandalf said, "he's offering you food."

The dwarfs conversed in whispers, as if there really was anything to consider. They were all hungry and tired, and most of their supplies were lost when the ponies ran off. Honestly, their lack of manners was astounding. "Well, um… in that case, lead on," Gloin said.

Elrond smiled, and offered his arm to Gemma. She graciously accepted, hoping to make up for the rudeness of the others. Right now, this man…elf...was her saviour, and she was hoping he would allow her access to a bath. It was pretty much the only thing she could focus on; she just felt so grody. She made light conversation with him and Gandalf as they walked the corridors, and when she asked about the bath, Lord Elrond immediately asked a guard to lead her to a private room and have one drawn.

If Gemma had looked back as the guard led her away from the company, she might have seen the bitter look Thorin wore as he watched her, eyes glued to her movements.

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><p>"Oh," Gemma sighed as she finally slipped into the large claw-foot tub in the small bedroom she had been loaned. The bath had to be filled by several servant elves bringing large buckets of steaming water into the room. She had tried to help, but the elves had assured her that she did not need to. Really, she was glad, because she was so tired. Once the bath water had cooled a bit, she'd undressed, and now here she was, soaking behind a silk screen in hot water that smelt like violets. It was bliss. She quickly washed her hair and spent awhile carefully shaving with the straight razor she had asked for (which was especially good, because she had no way to shave, and after a week of travel she really needed to). Then she just lay back, allowing the warm water to ease her muscles.<p>

It gave her time to think, which she hadn't had much of since she arrived. It had been constant motion all the time, never fully alone since the crash. And before she knew it, Gemma was crying, silent tears speeding down he cheeks. She had never had time to mourn for her fallen partner, only a quick riverside funeral. How could she have done that to Patrick? She should have done more. And he had said he'd loved her as he was dying. It made her mad; how could he do that to her, leave her with something like that; make her feel the worst guilt that she could not return the feelings? That, however, wasn't the only reason she cried. She had never mourned for herself. Even if she did make it home, this changed everything. How would she explain her absence to the F.B.I? Would she be able to go back? The Bureau had become her whole life, and she couldn't bear to lose all that she'd worked for. Gemma ran a finger over a scar, raw, red, and angry, on her chest, and then she was completely weeping, gasping out sobs. She wept with shameless self-pity for the sheer hopelessness of her situation; for the horrible broken mess that was Gemma LaRoche.

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><p>Thorin had refused the rooms offered to them, so Elrond had shown the company to a garden in which they had sent up their tents. The elven lord had given them directions to the dining area, telling them that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes. Thorin didn't like owing the elves anything. He wandered the garden as he waited, though it was really more like he was pacing. If Gemma had been here, he thought, she would have made some snide comment about how high-strung he was. He stopped pacing. Where had that come from? Since when did he think about how Gemma would react when she wasn't there, or think about her at all really, aside from a passing feeling of annoyance or anger? And when had he begun to think of her as <em>Gemma<em>, instead of Ms. LaRoche? It had been happening for a while, he realized. It caused a strange tightness in his chest.

"Thorin," Balin called, "it's about time for supper, I believe."

The Company met Elrond and Gandalf again in the dining hall. Thorin took a seat at a small head table with the two, while the rest found their place around a large one, where they immediately began to complain about the greenness, or leafiness, or general non-dwarf-friendliness of the food. "Lindir," Elrond called to another elf, the one they had met when they arrived. "Would you go fetch Lady LaRoche from her chambers? We have a place for her at the high table, and I would not want to begin without her."

The elf nodded, but, for reasons he did not quite understand, Thorin leapt from his seat and said, "No, I shall fetch _Agent_ LaRoche." The others gave him odd looks, but Lindir pointed him in the right direction and he set off. He wondered why he chose to go; there was no real answer. He had just felt compelled to see her, alone, if only for a minute. Thorin came to the right door and, after a slight hesitation, knocked.

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><p>Knocking on her door snapped Gemma out of a hazy state of crying. She was still in the bath, which had now cooled. "Uh, come in," she called back. She heard the sound of the door open and close. Gemma stuck her bare foot out from behind the screen, saying, "I'm still in the bath back here, I'll be out in a moment."<p>

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><p>Thorin wanted to hit himself for this stupid idea. She was in the bath (<em>naked<em>, some small part of his mind supplied), it was improper to be here. He could even see some of her legs poking out from behind the screen. His face flushed as he said, "Oh, uh, I just came to get you for dinner."

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><p>Shit, Gemma thought, Oakenshield had come to escort her? They didn't even like each other, why would he do that? She hadn't realized how long she had spent in the tub, and she quickly leapt out, wrapping her hair in a thick towel and her body in another. "Um, okay, I'll be out in a few minutes, if you want to wait." <em>Idiot! Why would you ask him to wait?<em>

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><p>Thorin didn't really know what to do, so he said "Alright." Stupid, he thought. Why did he say yes? He heard splashing and then silence for nearly a minute as he stood, still only a few steps into the room. "Uh, thanks. Hey, would you pass me my bag?" Gemma called eventually.<p>

"...Yes." Thorin grabbed the duffle bag and slowly walked towards the screen. An elegant hand extended from behind, and he placed the strap in it, looking away to make sure he didn't see anything. He had that weird feeling in his chest again.

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><p>Gemma tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. It was a distraction at least, so she didn't even have to take a minute to put on her pretend face, it just appeared as her sadness and worry was shoved off into some recess of her mind. She rubbed some sort of balm in her hair, which had dried a bit while she lay in the tub and was now only slightly damp and falling in loose natural waves and curls. Good enough. An attendant had left a dress for her, but Gemma did not like to look of that thing. It had a corset that looked like a torture device, and was floor length, which she just knew would make her trip. Plus it was shimmery and in pastel colours, pale greens and pinks. Not really her style. Instead Gemma dug through her bag and pulled out her red dress; the one she had worn on a previous case and forgotten to take out of her bag. It was cranberry red and made of silk, high necked and with three-quarter sleeves and a hem that reached just above her knees, form-fitting but not too tight. Overall it was quite modest. It was the back that added the flair; the dress was backless, the edge elegantly dipping down to the small of her back. It was perfect; she couldn't wear low cut necklines anymore, so this let her be sexy while still hiding what needed to be hidden. Gemma slipped into the dress, readjusting the built in cups, and remembered when she'd worn it a month ago. The team had been investigating a wealthy business man who was believed to be funding terrorists overseas. Gemma had done a bit of undercover work, attending a gala the man had thrown. The dress had certainly been a hit with the wealthy, and slightly intoxicated, males invitees (and a few female ones too). Gemma absently wondered what Thorin would think. She slipped on the charcoal grey, slightly heeled shoes that the elf attendant had also left, and put on matching red lipstick that she had managed to find in her bag as well. She didn't quite understand why she was getting so dressed up, but she figured it would help make a good impression on the elves. Plus, every elf she had seen was super gorgeous, so this made Gemma feel a bit better about herself. She finally stepped out from behind the screen.<p>

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><p>Thorin nearly choked when he saw her. When he first looked up from his perch on the end of the bed, all he saw was legs. Long and pale, muscled and totally smooth. His eyes slowly raked up her body. Her dress was short, shorter than anything he'd ever seen. It was a beautiful colour of red, and made of a smooth material that made him want to feel it. Her dark chestnut hair fell loose around her shoulders in waves and curls, and he had the urge to feel that too. Finally his eyes found her face; painted lips and green eyes. Eyes that held a strange, almost vulnerable, look.<p>

"Well? Whatcha think? Too dressy? "Gemma asked, turning slightly as she did so to reveal her bare back. Thorin could feel his face on fire. Mahal.

"I, uh… well," Gemma bit her lip and smirked at his poor attempt to speak. Why did she have this effect on him? Yes, she was stunning, there was no denying it, but they didn't get along at all; he couldn't stand her. Right? "It's just that women don't usually reveal so much, um skin in this land. Not high class women at least," he told her. He immediately regretted it, certain that she would chew his head off for that comment. It was probably normal fashion in her world (the men there were lucky bastards), but it would be frowned upon here. Thorin was trying to keep an open mind about this, as she had told him to do so many times when he would judge her, but he could not get over the shock of her (beautiful) bare back.

But Gemma did not get mad. Instead she smacked her forehead and said, "Uh, I'm so stupid, of course it's not appropriate. I should have realised." Then her eyes lit up again and she went across the room to the window, which was adorned with sheer grey curtains. Reaching up, Gemma slid one off the curtain rod and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. "There. Matches my shoes and everything. Is that better?" She seemed sincere in her question, and Thorin thought he saw a bit of worry in her eyes, searching for his approval. He also noticed they were slightly red. This was a side he had not seen, though he supposed she had many sides he hadn't seen. They'd only known each other a little while. Still, he wondered if something was wrong.

He nodded, and extended an arm to her, which, after a moment, she took. Thorin steered Gemma to the outdoor dining hall silently, sneaking glances at her all the way.

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><p>Thorin led Gemma past the main table to a smaller head table. The dwarves gaped as she passed, and Bofur even had the nerve to whistle at her. Gemma punched him as she walked by, and Thorin couldn't help but smile. The two sat down at the head table with Gandalf and Elrond, who both greeted her with raised eyebrows. Actually, Gandalf was the only one to raise his eyebrows; Elrond's were stuck that way. "Ah, my lady," the elf lord said, "Gandalf has just finished telling me about your unique situation. I wouldn't have believed it if I had not sensed your strange aura when we met."<p>

Gemma took a large gulp of elven wine and replied with a laugh. "Is having a 'strange aura' a good thing or a bad thing? Because I don't think we have doctors for that sort of thing where I'm from."

Elrond laughed too, "We have much to discuss, Ms. LaRoche. I cannot guarantee it, but I think I may have a solution to your predicament."

Gemma smiled widely and they continued to make friendly conversation. Thorin was surprised, and impressed, by her diplomatic skills. Everything he knew about her suggested that she would not be interested in the fake smiles and formalities of diplomacy; she was too genuine, too bluntly truthful for that. But then, he did know that she was a good liar and part of a bureaucratic institute back where she was from, so he supposed it made sense. He just never thought she'd enjoy it, and maybe he was right. Maybe she was just an even better liar than he'd thought. Gemma even convinced Elrond to look at the elven blades Thorin and Gandalf had found in the troll horde.

Finally, conversation turned to the Company's quest. Gandalf mentioned the map, but lied about the details of their interest in it, for which Thorin was grateful. He had felt uneasy ever since they had arrived here, in the home of the elves, their enemies. He just knew that the elves would try to stop them. So far, though, everything had gone okay. Elrond had even gifted them with provisions for their continued journey. Thorin knew this would change. He wished they had not come. It was that damned wizard's fault. He realized now that he had stopped blaming Gemma, as he had done before. He had been angry with her; in fact, he was pretty sure he had been preparing to yell at her when he had walked towards her room. Those feelings left once he entered, once he saw her in that dress, once he had seen that look in her eyes that he did not quite understand.

Just as Elrond began to question the true intentions of their journey, Bofur and the other dwarves managed to hijack the elven musicians, and began a lively chant. As food began to fly through the air, the elves became uncomfortable with these poor manners. Thorin tried to remain polite, but he was rather happy with the chaos his kin were stirring up. Gemma began to laugh, a throaty chuckle that grew and made Thorin want to join in. And yet her smile didn't reach her eyes, he noticed. Kili came up to the head table and extended his hand to her, motioning with his head to ask for a dance. "Oh, I'm not sure I'm your type, Kili. I heard you have a thing for elven men," Gemma teased, referencing the embarrassing conversation they had overheard from the lower table, but took his hand and let a now red faced Kili guide her to the floor. They started up a rowdy jig, and Thorin could still hear her laughter above the stomping feet and rumbling voices as she switched partners. She was having a little difficulty, but her hair streamed out behind her as she was twirled, and Thorin was so entranced that he nearly didn't hear Elrond suggest that they go somewhere more private to discuss things. He nodded, and asked Elrond and Gandalf to wait for a moment.

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><p>Gemma spun away from Fili, laughing. She wasn't even that great of a dancer, but the dance was easy and fun, so long as she steered her partner away from the open fire burning near the lower table. Finishing her twirl she collided with a warm body; her hands resting on his chest, Gemma stopped nose to nose with Thorin (well, not exactly nose to nose, what with the significant height difference). His hand came to rest on her hip as they stared.<p>

"I... The elf lord has asked to speak with me. Would you join us? I am sure he needs to discuss matters with you as well." Gemma nodded and stepped back so that they were no longer chest to chest. Thorin fetched Balin as well, and they returned to Gandalf and Elrond, who led them to a private chamber. Gemma grabbed Bilbo on her way out. The two of them had become good friends, and she had a feeling he would not want to miss this.

"Now," said Lord Elrond once they were behind closed doors, "I am told you have something to show me."

Gemma saw Thorin stiffen. He rounded on Gandalf. "That map is a relic of my people. I will not give it to our enemy!"

"I did not give you that map so that you could turn away help," Gandalf replied.

"I did not think it was yours to give!" Thorin shouted. Gemma and Bilbo shared a look; it seemed to be becoming a habit in these strange situations.

"You stand in the presence of one of the few people who can read that map. Give it to Lord Elrond." Gandalf implored.

"Thorin," Gemma spoke up from where she stood behind him. He shot her a scathing glare, but she would not be deterred this time; she glared right back. "Don't be stubborn."

Thorin's glare softened a fraction, and slowly he pulled out the map and handed it to Elrond, though Balin protested. He had actually listened to her; how very unexpected.

The elf examined the map. "What is your interest in Erebor?"

"It's mainly academic," Gandalf assured, giving Thorin a nod, which he returned. Gemma could tell that Elrond knew they were lying, but he let it go for the moment.

"Well, it would seem fate has brought you to Rivendell this night, Master Oakenshield. This map contains moon runes, which can only be read by the light of the same moon by which they were written. As fortune has it, that same moon shines tonight."

The elf opened a set of doors, ushering the group onto a balcony, over which a waterfall fell with moonlight shining through. Holding the map up, he read, "Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo asked.

"Dwarvish New Years, when the last moon of autumn and first sun of winter shine together." Gandalf informed them.

"Durin's day approaches quickly, we must be in exactly the right spot at the right time if we are to find the entrance!" Balin exclaimed. Gemma face-palmed. So much for secrecy.

"So you wish to enter the mountain?" Elrond asked, though Gemma guessed that he suspected their intentions all along.

Thorin snatched back the map, saying, "And what if we do?"

"There are some who would deem it... unwise." Elrond and Thorin were locked in a stare down. Afraid that things might get out of hand, as Thorin looked like he wanted to rip out Elrond's throat, Gemma stepped in and said "Thorin, shouldn't you go inform the others of this new development?" Thorin did not acknowledge her, but after a few seconds he stomped out with Balin following.

"Well that was... interesting," Gemma mumbled.

Elrond turned to her, all traces of anger gone from his face once more. Not that there had been much before. Elves didn't seem to be very emotionally expressive, so "anger" was only implied by his knitted eyebrows. "Why don't we all go back into my study? I have news for you which will be less... volatilely received, I'm sure."

Gemma bit her lip, eager yet nervous to learn how Elrond hoped to send her home. Bilbo patted her on the arm as he read the emotions in her face. Then they all went back inside to discuss Gemma's ticket home.

**AN: Told you it was a long chapter. It was mostly filler, with lots of POV changes and chock full of fluff, but I rather enjoy this one. Some more hints thrown in the mix, too. The next chapter will contain that drunken scene I mentioned, as well as some revelations on Gemma's past. These will NOT be the secret that I continually hint about. You'll have to wait a bit longer for that.**

**Thank you all for reading, and thanks for the wonderful reviews. I'm so glad that you enjoy Gemma. I had some more guesses, and while none of them were right (I highly doubt it'll be something you'll be able to guess) you guys are on the right track. I also had some comments on Gemma's character. I think by know you're beginning to realize that she has some trouble in her past and some ongoing issues, and this affects her character. This is why she might not be acting in a way that conforms to the way you might imagine and F.B.I agent to act. All in due time, my lovely readers.**


	10. Moonshine Remedies

**I just finished my English exam and I'm feeling pretty good about it, so to celebrate here's another chapter! This one reveals some things about Gemma's past, but they are not the secrets that I've been hinting about. Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I only own Gemma, nothing else is mine.**

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><p>Chapter 10: Moonshine Remedies<p>

_Problems are not the problem; coping is the problem._

–_Virginia Satir_

Lord Elrond led Gemma, Bilbo, and Gandalf back inside to his study, where he opened a cabinet and retrieved an ornate silver box. "Now it seems to me that it's not a matter of wrong spells. Gandalf sent you home, yes? It is simply a matter of _staying_ there. Something pulled you back here… something _anchored_ you here. Perhaps the best solution would be to let things run their course, as I believe you are here for a reason," Elrond said, turning to Gemma with raised (maybe?) eyebrows. That was not the answer Gemma was looking for, as evidenced by the look of sheer panic on her face. "_However_," Elrond said, "I may have a quicker solution." He opened the silver box and pulled out a black velvet pouch, which he opened as well, reaching in to pull out a tiny crystal, the size of Gemma's thumb, shaped like a teardrop. Elrond held it between thumb and forefinger, holding it up so that it seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Wait… it really _was_ glowing, a pale blue aura emitting from the rock as it captured the moon's rays. "This is _ithil gond_... moonstone, in the Common Tongue. Elves are gifted healers, Ms. LaRoche, and this is one of our more rare remedies. We use this when the spirit of an elf has almost, but not quite, left its dying body. When an elf is mortally wounded, its spirit will go to Valinor, where it will be given another, identical body in which to live in the Undying Lands. But sometimes, it is not their time, and we use the moonstone to anchor the spirit so that we may heal the body," Elrond said approaching Gemma to place the stone in her hand. "I believe that this may be able to counteract whatever is anchoring you to this land and anchor you to your own."

Gemma gaped at the stone, then at Elrond. "Really? Wow… _thank you_. I don't know what to say." She turned to Bilbo, eyes shining. "I'm going home." In her overwhelming relief, she leapt across the room and embraced Bilbo, laughing.

"There are a few things that must be dealt with first, of course," Elrond said. "Gandalf's spell is still a requirement, though I believe he may be able to add that enchantment to the stone." Gandalf nodded. "And the moonstone must first build up power from the light of the moon for several nights. In this time you are welcome to remain in Rivendell."

Gemma kneeled down on the floor, still clutching Bilbo, who looked slightly uncomfortable yet happy for her, and just sat there in shock. Soon she would be home, and then… Her joy disappeared as quickly as it had come, because going home presented a whole new set of problems. When she got home, what would she do then?

* * *

><p>Several hours after his rather hostile meeting with Elrond, Thorin wandered the grounds, deep in thought. They had what they needed now; the map was translated and they even had new supplies. Thorin, along with the rest of the Company, was more than ready to leave, and they had decided to depart in the morning, early under cover of darkness, in order to avoid any chance of being stopped by the elves. There was just one thing left for Thorin to do.<p>

_She_ had not been seen since the meeting with Elrond. He knew that she had her own meeting with the elf afterwards, and he had wondered if perhaps she had already been sent home. The thought had troubled him more than it should have, especially after the way she had undermined him that night. Yet, Thorin had just begun to truly respect, and at least somewhat like, Ms. Gemma LaRoche. He had felt much more relief than he should have when he discovered her bag still in the bedroom she had been given. So now the dwarf king roamed the gardens, hoping to find the wayward otherworldly traveller.

Thorin found Gemma sitting by the river on a tiny beach, partially hidden by tall cattail reeds. As he slowly approached, he realised that she held a rather large bottle of elvish wine in her hand, from which she was taking liberal gulps, straight from the bottle. He also noticed that her shoulders shook ever so slightly. Something was wrong. Thorin came up beside her and quietly sat down. Gemma did not look up, did not even acknowledge him, but he knew that she knew he was there. Even intoxicated, Thorin was sure that Gemma's skills were sharper than the average man. The two of them stared out at the river in silence for several minutes before Thorin finally broke the silence.

"I take it the elf gave you bad news?"

Gemma still did not look at him as she answered, "No, no. He… I'm going home, or probably at least. He thinks this…," she held up a glowing blue gemstone, which was now held in a wire cage as a pendant on the small copper chain around her neck, "this… rock thing, is going to… to um… _anchor_ me to my home world." She giggled and then hiccupped, and Thorin could barely contain his disbelieving look. Gemma LaRoche was the last person he ever expected to _giggle_. "Whatever that means. Gandalf did his magic stuff on the chain and now I just have to wait until the rock is charged by the power of the moon. You know, a few weeks ago, I would have recommended mental treatment for anyone who would have suggested that a blue rock could let me hop to other dimensions. Now I'm completely relying on it doing just that."

Thorin wrinkled his brow. "Then that it happy news. You should celebrate, not be out here. What is wrong?"

Gemma turned to him, the glow of the moon catching the glint of tears in her eyes. "I don't know… I was so happy to be going home, and I started to think of all the things I've missed and… I realized that I won't have any of that anymore. I can't go back and pretend this never happened. This has changed everything. The man who I have worked beside for three years is gone, but he wasn't just my partner, he was my best friend. And sometimes I think, I don't know, maybe it could have been more. But now he's gone and I'm still suppressing that, not dealing with it. And my job, the only thing that used to matter to me, I can never get that back. How do I explain what happened, where I've been? They'd throw me in the nut house. No, I'd have to leave, start over, and after all my years of hard work to get where I wanted." She took another swig from the bottle, and offered it to Thorin, who, after a moment, took a drink from it as well. The liquor caused a warm buzz in his stomach, and Thorin was surprised that Gemma was still able to speak so eloquently with all the wine she'd already consumed.

"I don't want to talk about this. I'll figure it out when it's time to go. Elrond offered to let me stay in Rivendell until then."

Thorin soured at the elf's name. "Stay with the elves? Are you sure?"

"Well, what else am I going to do? I promised I would be out of your hair as soon as I got to the place where I could find help, and here I am. What's your deal with the elves anyway? I mean, they seem a bit snobby, but not all together unpleasant."

Thorin sighed. "It is a long and bitter tale, from the dark days after Erebor fell."

Gemma fiddled with a stone in her hand and then tossed it to the river. It skipped once, twice, thrice. "How about this; you tell me the story, and I'll tell you about why I joined the F.B.I?"

Thorin thought about it, curiosity piqued. Gemma LaRoche had to be the strangest, most infuriating, and most mysterious being he had ever known, and he could not pass on this opportunity. Besides, he wanted to tell her how wrong she was about the elves; they were selfish, traitorous, and manipulative beings. He nodded and began, "Balin has told you the short of the story. Our kingdom had become the richest for miles; my grandfather, King Thror, had a love of gold, and he horded so much treasure that we had whole rooms filled with it, mounds the size of houses. But there was a sickness, a terrible greed that came with the gold, and it drove my grandfather mad." Thorin trailed off here. He did not like talking about the dragon sickness. He recalled the conversation he had overheard between Gandalf and Elrond about it, and he felt his heart sink with fear. He did not want to be his grandfather.

Thorin continued on. "And that is why the dragon came, for dragons love gold above all else. Smaug's attack was terrible. The whole city of Dale, a town of men that sat at our mountain's base, was burnt to the ground, and Dale was not even the target." Gemma looked slightly nauseous, but Thorin couldn't tell if it was from horror at the death and desolation he spoke of, or from the elvish wine. "When the dragon burst through Erebor's walls, my people had no choice but to leave. We did not have the power to take him down, and we could receive no help from our allies in Dale. Indeed, they had failed to shoot the beast down. Our only hope was the elves. Thranduil, King of the Woodland realm, had heard of our plight and marched his army towards my home, but decided to turn his back to us as our city burned. He was too afraid to fight the dragon and too bitter over an old dispute, and I watched him and his people, our last hope, leave us. No help came from the elves that day, or any day since." Thorin bowed his head. "If they had helped, my grandfather and father would not have been killed by the orcs in the Battle of Moria. There would have been _no need_ for the Battle of Moria." He did not know when it had happened, but at some point in the story, Gemma had taken hold of his hand, and she now gave it a slight squeeze.

Apparently, Gemma LaRoche was an emotional drunk, most unlike her normal self, who would certainly never be caught holding hands with him.

"I am so sorry Thorin, and I understand why you would be bitter about this. But I also kind of understand where this guy was coming from. Attacking a _dragon_: that wouldn't be bravery, just stupidity."

Thorin nodded. He knew she was right, but that didn't change anything; the elves had been their allies, and they had abandoned the dwarves.

"_But_, they should have helped you after; offered you refuge, or supplies, or something. Ugh, politics. You know, though, correct me if I'm wrong, but the elves of Rivendell are not the same elves that abandoned you. You should not generalize like that, that's called racism." She didn't really say it in an accusing way, but Thorin felt a bit slighted none the less.

"Alright, I told you my story, now it is your turn," he grumbled.

Gemma skipped another stone across the water as her thoughts turned to her past. "I guess I should start at the beginning. My father grew up in Quebec, Canada, which is the country to the north of my own. He worked for the Canadian government in foreign trade, and was given a job in the United States at a place called the World Trade Centre, liaising with an American financial company. That's where he met my mother, and a few years later I was born. My mother left us one year after that. She ran away with some other man, and it was just my dad and I ever since. And then, well, it wasn't. I told you about airplanes, right? There was this terrorist organization, and they hijacked two huge planes and flew them into each of the two towers of the World Trade Centre. Two more planes were hijacked, one crashed into the Pentagon, which was like the headquarters of our country's security, and the other into a field, though it was aimed at our nation's capital city. We called it the 9/11 attacks, and they were some of the deadliest attacks in our history." Gemma sniffed, like she was holding back tears. "My father was killed by the second plane; he never made it out of the tower. They never found his body, not all of it. Just…pieces. I had been in college at the time, studying law. I quit three weeks later and joined the police academy. I served four years as a cop in New York, then two years in Washington, and then I went into the FBI academy, and finally made it into the counter-terrorism unit." Gemma looked at Thorin with such an intense look that he wanted to turn away, and yet, could not.

"You do not know how… _angry _I was," she said in a low tone. "I nearly joined the army, but I decided the F.B.I would be better for me. Almost a decade of my life was spent working towards this, and now it's all gone." Now she cried, deep heaving sobs, and his heart felt for her. "I miss my life, and my job… I miss my partner, and …I miss my father. When I go back, none of that is going to change, and I guess my being here, with all of you, has sort of distracted me from all of this, until now."

Her father. He wanted to tell her that he did understand, that his father was gone too. But was it really the same? Yes and no. He had the tiniest sliver of hope that his father was alive. However foolish it was, that hope was something Thorin could cling to. Gemma had simply had her father taken from her, with no hope. Thorin didn't know which was worse.

She sighed, "You know what I realised, though, once I started this job? That anger that drove me to do all this was so destructive. You can't generalize the people who do wrong to you, even though it's tempting. This hatred built up in my people, and it just caused more war, more destruction. My whole world is just so messed up, so devastated by hatred and terror and ignorance. If you want to have peace in this land, you need to settle your differences with the elves."

Thorin was torn between being angry at her for suggesting that _he_ should be the one to make peace with the elves, and embracing her to console her for her loss, though that was most unlike him. How much of that wine had he consumed as she spoke? He did not remember, but the bottle was less than half full now.

He rubbed his hand on her back, which he did not remember was bare until now. Thorin's hand tingled, and the feeling in his gut swelled, but he told himself it was only that damned elvish wine. "You know, we are more alike than I thought. We understand the loss of a father, and the attack on our home."

Gemma laughed, "Gandalf was just telling me that we are alike. I told him he was wrong, but of course, he was right. I suppose we wanted the same thing too; just to get home. I'm just not sure if that exists anymore."

* * *

><p>"Thorin, wake up!"<p>

Thorin cracked his eyes open, wondering where he was. Mahal, his back hurt. It was still dark out, and Balin stood over him, shaking his shoulder. Thorin sat up, discovering that he had fallen asleep on the beach by the river. The events of last night came back to him; the reading of the map, the Company's plan to sneak away early, and his surprising talk with Gemma. He looked around to find her. Gemma lay curled in the sand a few feet away, still wearing her red evening dress, fast asleep. From his position he could see the slight glow of the blue moonstone that hung from her neck.

"The Company will be ready to leave in less than an hour. We must move quickly, before the elves awaken," Balin said.

Thorin got up, but was still staring at Gemma. A little voice in his head said _you can't just leave her here_. He didn't know if it meant here on the beach, or here in Rivendell. "I will meet you shortly by the north exit." Balin nodded and left.

Thorin approached Gemma slowly. "Ms. LaRoche," he called quietly. She did not stir. Thorin knelt and leaned over, giving her shoulder a slight shake. Gemma's eyes flew open and she scrambled backwards, as if he were going to attack her. She relaxed once she saw who it was, then clutched her head. Thorin nearly grinned. "A bit hung over, are you?"

"Hung over? Please. It takes more than a little wine to get me drunk," she scoffed, though she was clearly lying. "Did we fall asleep out here?"

"Yes, and apparently for nearly the whole night. The Company is getting ready to leave within the hour," Thorin replied.

Gemma shuffled her feet. "Oh ," she said, clearly thinking the same thing he was; this was where they parted ways. "Well, uh, good luck with your journey," she told him, offering him her hand, which he held and, with slight hesitation, kissed. "Oh!" she said again, flushed, "I just meant to shake it, but uh… thanks? That was very gentlemanly of you." She smiled slightly, grabbed his hand again and gave it a strong shake. "There, much better."

They stared at each other for a second, and Thorin found he did not want to leave her behind. Gemma LaRoche may be the most aggravating and strange person he'd ever met, but she was strong and capable, and was certainly an advantage in a fight. Plus, he had rather enjoyed their talk last night, though he'd never tell her that. "Ms. LaRoche… you do not have to stay here, if you don't want to. What I mean to say is, well, you may come with us if you like."

Gemma tilted her head and gave him a searching look. "I… wouldn't want to be a burden. You don't have to let me come."

Thorin wanted to laugh. She thought she would be a burden? She was an asset. She and her contraption of death. "I know," he said, "but I was wrong before. We may not see eye to eye, but I believe a partnership could be… mutually beneficial." After last night, Thorin knew Gemma was in need of an adventure, as Master Baggins would call it. She wasn't quite ready to face her homeland yet.

Gemma smiled, and Thorin knew she would come. He felt oddly pleased.

* * *

><p>Gemma was <em>super<em> hung over, but she didn't want Thorin to know that. She had gone back to her room to change and grab her things before she met the Company to leave. As soon as she was alone in the privacy on the room, she let out a groan, followed by a long string of curses, because that's what she felt like. Thank goodness it was still dark out. This was the worst. She didn't think she'd even drank that much wine the night before; after all, she had still been able to speak coherently and her memories were present and intact. She wished she didn't care what others thought, but she did, and she did not want to appear a lightweight. She hated to look weak.

Gemma rummaged through her bag until she found a couple of Advil tablets, which she swallowed dry, and her aviator sunglasses. She removed her now wrinkled and sand-covered dress, giving it a shake before folding it and placing it at the bottom of her bag. Gemma then donned the grey long-sleeved shirt that she had worn the day before, and her blue jeans and windbreaker. Thankfully, everything had been washed by some of the elf maidens; otherwise they would have still stunk of sweat. Gemma had run out of deodorant too, so she grabbed a bottle from the bath area of the room. She didn't know what it was (apparently elves didn't like labels), but it smelt like violets and was tightly sealed. She dabbed some of the substance, which had the consistency of water, on her skin and threw it in her bag. Checking her reflection in the mirror, Gemma indeed looked like she had just rolled out of bed, like she was nursing the worst hang over since college. Which she was. She felt too crappy to care how she looked. Fucking elvish wine.

Making her way to the meeting spot, Gemma saw that the others had all arrived, save one important person. "Where's Gandalf?" She called as she approached.

"There's been a change of plans, we leave without him," Thorin replied. He seemed disgruntled again. Geez, this guy just couldn't stay in a good mood for long, could he?

"Lass, I thought ya weren't comin'!" Bofur called, coming over to give her a hearty pat on the back, which nearly knocked her over. She groaned mentally; she was _never_ going to drink again (that was a lie, and Gemma knew it).

"There's been a change of plans," she mimicked Thorin, putting on a low voice. The dwarves laughed, though Thorin sent her a glare. She probably shouldn't be mocking him after he had been nice enough to let her come with them. He could still take back his offer.

The Company snuck out, taking a winding path away from the elf village. Gemma fell into step beside Bilbo, and the two of them looked back one last time. Gemma wondered if this was a good decision; she wasn't always so great at making those. She was just so worried about what was going to happen once she got back, and that worry would just build if she did nothing while she waited. This quest seemed like something worth doing, a worthy distraction before her real problems descended upon her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**Hey there. So I realize that some of you might not be so keen on the whole moonstone idea. I'm screwing around with Middle Earth magic, and that can make things complicated and weird. But Gemma arrived via unexplained magic portal, so I think things are already weird. I didn't want this story to be like many others, where she's stuck in Middle Earth permanently. I wanted the idea of non-permanence, the thought that at any moment she could leave, to hang over Gemma and Thorin as their relationship builds, and I also wanted her to have a choice. Plus, I have this thing that going to happen, and the moonstone is the only way to make it work.**

**I got some lovely reviews, and one person had a very close guess as to what Gemma is hiding. Of course, the details are rather complicated, so you'll all just have to wait and see what happens. Like I said before, the things revealed in this chapter are NOT part of that, but they do lead into it.**

**I'm sorry if drunken Gemma wasn't as funny as you were expecting. I didn't want her slurring all over the place while she was talking about such an important subject. It just didn't seem right. I hope hung-over Gemma sort of made up for it.**

**Review?**


	11. Gimme Shelter

**AN: Guess who finally finished all her exams today? This girl! So here's another chapter to celebrate.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit, or anything associated with it.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11: Gimme Shelter<p>

_There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm._

–_Willa Cather_

"Why would you possibly choose to go this way? Are you all complete morons?!" Gemma LaRoche hissed in Thorin's ear as she covered her head with her arm to protect against the torrential rain, over which he could barely hear her.

Thorin was seriously beginning to regret inviting her along. "We were trying to save time. Balin said this was the quickest way," He shouted back, miffed that she was questioning his judgement yet again, even if the reasons were sound. "Besides, you are not even from this place. How could you believe that you know a better route!?"

"We had two choices: go through the lush, green, _sheltered_ valley, or take the path that led through the dangerous rocky mountain cliffs, where we'd have no shelter at all. Any advantage we gained from this shorter route has gone out the window because this weather is just slowing us down!"

"You think I do not know that?!" Thorin yelled back. He was saved from a biting response when a streak of lightning lit up the sky, followed almost simultaneously by a loud crack of thunder, which made Gemma and the others jump.

"Oh you are _fucking_ kidding me!" Gemma yelled seconds later. He followed her line of sight to see that the path ahead narrowed significantly, so that the Company would have to inch along the ledge. They did so slowly, doing their best to cling to the rock face, though it was wet and slippery. Thorin almost wanted to turn back, but they had already come this far, and going back now would be a huge waste of precious time. He knew everyone thought the same thing, which was why no one, even Gemma, voiced their desire to turn around, no matter how strong that desire was.

There was a commotion behind him as Bilbo Baggins nearly lost his footing, the rocky edge giving away slightly. Thorin saw Gemma tense, but from her place beside him she could do nothing to help her friend. "We must find shelter!" he called over the storm.

He'd turned back to yell this, and so did not see the great boulder flying towards them until Dwalin yelled "Look out!"

The rock smashed on the cliff wall above them, and they all braced themselves and covered their heads as the fragments rained down on them. Gemma had found a solid grip on a small jut out, and she grabbed his bicep with her other hand to hold Thorin in place.

"This is no thunderstorm, it's a thunder battle!" Balin cried, and the others looked up to see an enormous creature rise from what they'd thought to be a rocky cliff-side.

"Well, bless me, the legends are true! Stone giants!" Bofur yelled as another rock was launched at a second giant behind them.

"Take cover, you fools," Thorin yelled at the few dwarves who had leaned out to get a better look at these terrifying creatures. Their rocky ledge began to shrink as it crumbled, and then there was a sudden break between half of the Company.

"Kili, grab my hand!" Fili yelled at his brother as the divide between them widened. A look of utter fear crossed each of Thorin's nephews' faces as they were split apart.

"Oh God, we're on one of them," Gemma cried, and Thorin looked up to see that she was right; they stood on the legs of a colossal stone giant, and another was charging straight for their own. The giants collided, and the head of the giant they stood upon was shattered. "Great," Gemma yelled, "we're not even on the good one; we're stuck on the loser!"

Their leg swung towards another rock face, this one unmoving and with a sizably larger ledge. Thorin jumped across to it and yelled for the rest of the Company that was with him to do the same. More rocks shattered overhead as their group watched, helplessly, as the others swung by, and then crashed into the rock face beside them.

"No!" Thorin yelled in despair. His friends, his nephew, all gone. This could not be real. Gemma fisted his shirt and yanked him back from the edge, which he had moved towards. He looked to her in utter despair, but her face was blank, that cold, emotionless stare of concentration that she took on when things went badly. He had seen it twice before; once when she held her gun to his head, and once when they fought the orcs together. He yanked himself out of her grasp and ran forward to where the others had crashed. "No, Kili!"

He inched around the corner and was relieved to see that they were all okay, although badly bruised. He sighed in relief as someone yelled "It's alright, they're alive!"

His relief was broken when Bofur cried, "Where's Bilbo?" They began to look around, panicked, and their attention was drawn when Gemma shrieked. She was leaning over the edge to reach the hobbit, who was holding on by his fingertips to a tiny crevice just out of Gemma's reach.

Bofur joined her as the two, who had both grown to be especially good friends with the hobbit, leaned farther to reach him. Fili ran over to help, holding Gemma at the waist so she did not fall. Gemma looked up at Thorin, and her face was no longer impassive. Instead it reflected back the fear he himself had felt at the prospect of losing his nephew. She leaned farther, and would have slipped over too, if Fili had not been holding her. The stupid hobbit would get her killed as well. Thorin swung himself over the edge to grab Bilbo, hauling the hobbit up and then tried to pull himself back to the ledge. His grip slipped, and he thought for sure that he was a goner, but Dwalin and Nori grabbed him and lifted him up.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin said in relief as Gemma grabbed onto Bilbo in a tight embrace, which he returned. She shot Thorin a look of gratitude, but he would have none of it.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," Thorin growled, "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

"Hey!" Thorin heard Gemma yell at him, but he ignored her, calling Dwalin up to the front with him and leaving her to cling to the pathetic hobbit.

* * *

><p>"Hey jackass!"<p>

As soon as the Company found shelter in a tiny and thankfully uninhabited cave, Gemma accosted Thorin. "What the hell was that about? Bilbo didn't do anything wrong and you nearly bit off his head!" Gemma was furious at the dwarf king. She and Bilbo had bonded over the fact that they were both outsiders, and had ended up spending a lot of time at each other's side; Gemma had come to know the hobbit quite well. He may have been out of his element, but that was only because he wasn't used to this kind of thing. She had a feeling that underneath, Bilbo might be hiding the soul of a fighter.

"He is a burden! I do not have time to look after him and fix his mistakes." Thorin was equally mad at her, Gemma could tell. She briefly considered the fact that fighting wasn't helping anything, but quickly brushed that idea aside. There was just something about Thorin Oakenshield that pushed her to the edge of her self-control, which she normally had a good hold on, and brought out all her anger and emotions.

"He slipped! It could have happened to any of us. In case you didn't realize, we were walking along a ledge that was barely bigger than the size of our feet, and the Armageddon of all storms is raging out there. This wouldn't have happened if we took the valley route!" Gemma was trying (_very_ hard) not to yell, so her voice was coming out in a hiss. Thorin clearly did not have the same idea.

"Enough!" he roared. "I will hear no more about our route. We cannot change a decision of the past. And as for Master Baggins, he is a fool to ever have come. He is not at all cut out for this, and has only created greater problems for me!"

Gemma glared at him, straightening to her full height so that she towered over the dwarf king. "I would bet you anything that one day Bilbo is going to make you eat your words. I can only hope that I'm there to see it."

"Must you always question me? I am the leader of this Company, it would do you good to respect that. Do you always act this way to your superiors?!"

She wanted to argue that he wasn't her superior, but technically, as the leader, he was.

It wasn't like she was always this wild, this rebellious. As a cop, she'd been exemplary, but it was different then. More laid back, less political. Her superiors had been her brothers, not some posh men in suits who just didn't understand her job. But even in the Bureau she'd been a perfect little soldier, until _the incident_. After, she'd honestly just stopped caring. She couldn't let people have power over her any longer. The Bureau wouldn't fire her; her record was still impeccable, her unit leader liked her and would vouch for her, and most importantly, they wouldn't dare fire her after all she'd sacrificed for them, after they had so utterly ruined her. They wouldn't dare. Thorin, on the other hand, had no such qualms, and he had been kind enough to allow her to join them after Rivendell. Heaven knows she needed the distraction.

But good God, he just drove her crazy, the bastard. Why couldn't he try being nice for a change?

Rather than dignifying him with a response (which she didn't really have because, she grudgingly admitted to herself, he was right, about the superiors thing at least), she spun on her heels and stalked away to the other side of the cave (which was only a few steps away, somewhat defeating the purpose of this action), setting up her bedroll near between Bilbo and Fili.

Fili and Kili had been shamelessly eavesdropping on her conversation with their uncle, which was not difficult, as it was less of a conversation and more of a shouting match. Gemma shot them her worst glare, warning them not to talk about it. Fili held up his hands in surrender, and Kili mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key. She smiled, satisfied with their comical reactions; those two certainly knew how to cheer her up. Rolling over on her bedroll and covering herself with a wool blanket which was surprisingly only _slightly_ damp, Gemma fell asleep; completely missing the expression of gratitude and guilt a certain hobbit wore as he looked her way.

Gemma was woken when something, or rather someone, bumped her foot as he silently walked by. She cracked an eye open. It was still night time and the cave was in almost complete darkness. She waited, unmoving, to see what this person did. A few seconds later she heard a thud, a muttered swear, and then Bofur's brogue. "Bilbo?" Ah, that's who the night walker was. "What are you doin'? Where are you goin'?"

She heard a sigh, and then Bilbo replied, "Back to Rivendell."

Gemma heard the night watchman (Watchdwarf? Oh forget it, she couldn't it figure out, and she was done trying) jump to his feet. "No, no, you can't turn back now. You're part o' the Company. You're one of us," He insisted.

"I'm not though," The reluctant burglar to be said. "Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. It was kind of Gemma to defend me, but she has too much faith in me. I should never have left Bag End."

Gemma hated that he felt that way. She knew the journey had been hard for Bilbo, but she had not realized until that moment how hard. It had been much easier for Gemma. She had always been good at adapting, and by now she was a pro. Her colleagues occasionally called her "The Chameleon" because of the way she could alter who she was to fit any situation; there was the flirtatious Gemma, the assertive Gemma, the stone-cold emotionless Gemma, the jokester Gemma. Sometimes she hated it; it got so lonely when you discovered you had so many fronts and plays that nobody knew the real you. But the talent had saved her skin too many times to count. Adapt to survive. Bilbo didn't have that defence, or any others. He was simply thrust into a violent and horrible world that he was completely unprepared for. He reminded her of the victims she often saw on the job; people who were just now realizing how terrible the world was, their innocence crumbling away. Gemma had lost hers a long time ago. Bilbo still had some left. Perhaps that was why she liked him so much.

"You miss home. I understand," Bofur told Bilbo, still intent on making him stay.

"No you don't!" Bilbo said, and now Gemma can hear the agitation highlighting his voice. "You're dwarves; you're used to this life. I'm used to... to handmade doilies and lemon iced tea. You're used to adventures. Always on the road, never belonging anywhere!"

Oh. Oh, that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Gemma heard Bofur suck in a breath, and she could tell the words had affected him. Bilbo knew it too.

"I...No, I didn't mean...," he tried to take back what he said.

"No, you're right. Look at us," Bofur said bitterly. "We have no home. We don't belong anywhere."

Poor, sweet Bofur. Gemma's heart broke for him, and that was the moment she decided to stay and see this quest through to the end. Her life was already screwed; she couldn't make it any worse by arriving back in her own world a few months after the accident instead of a few weeks. If she could help her new friends, she would.

"I wish you all the best, I really do," Bofur told Bilbo, and the hobbit turned to leave.

Gemma wanted to stop him. After all, he was the one she had most connected with, and she liked to think that they were friends. But to be honest, she was still a bit annoyed about what he had said to Bofur. Plus, neither of them knew she was awake and eavesdropping on their conversation.

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><p>There was another Company member listening in as well, though Gemma didn't know it. Thorin Oakenshield lay awake on the other side of the cave, watching the same exchange. He could not say he was upset about the hobbit's decision to leave; Thorin still stood by what he had said earlier, despite his argument with Gemma. In fact, he was probably so intent on sticking to his opinion of Bilbo <em>because<em> of his argument with Gemma. In truth, he really didn't hate the hobbit like he'd said; sure Thorin still thought Bilbo to be a bit weak and stuffy and at times a burden, but he'd really grown used to the hobbit's presence among them. If Bilbo stuck around, it wouldn't be quite the terrible thing he had made it out to be. What he said had been the rash thoughts of a stressed and terrified man, and he knew that he had overreacted, even if it was what he believed to be true about the hobbit. But if he went back on it now, he would never live it down. For the dwarf king, pride and stubbornness outweighed the fact that they were losing a member of the Company whom he now only really considered an insignificant distraction.

Thorin was pulled out of his musings when Bofur asked Bilbo, who was on his way out into the pouring rain, "What's that?

He knew something was wrong before he even saw it, because he saw her shoulders tense. He should have known Gemma would be awake, light sleeper that she was. From the position he was in, Thorin had the perfect view of her back, specifically her shoulders and bare neck, which arched in a way that was rather alluring in the blue light. Blue light which he at first thought was coming from Gemma's moonstone necklace, but was not. This light was a different blue, harsher, electric, and it came from Bilbo's tiny sword. Bilbo's elven sword which glowed when foul creatures approached.

Thorin heard a hissing sound and felt the slightest shift beneath him, and he knew something was about to happen, something bad. He barely had time to yell "_Wake up_!" to the others before the cave floor beneath them fell away, swallowing the Company into darkness.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**You guys are the best! I got so many wonderful reviews last chapter. Thank you so much, I'm really glad you're enjoying my writing. It means so much to me, and I love to hear your feedback. I'm surprised at how many of you have mentioned how funny you find the story. It's so difficult to make people laugh, but it's very rewarding, so I'm glad my attempts at humour have paid off.**

**In other news, I'm currently writing chapter 26 (hooray for being ahead of the game), and it's pretty awesome, if I say so myself. It introduces a new minor OC who is pretty much the best character I've ever written. So yeah, look forward to that!**

**Review?**


	12. Rule of Chaos

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with The Hobbit and Middle Earth.**

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><p>Chapter 12: Rule of Chaos<p>

_Civilization begins with order, grows with liberty and dies with chaos._

—Will Durant

In the movies, action heroes can slide smoothly across any surface imaginable and land on their feet, no worse for wear than when they began. Gemma could not help but think that action movies needed to do better research. She now knew for a fact that sliding down a dirt tunnel onto a wooden platform would look and feel very different in an action movie that it did in real life. First and foremost because she did not, in fact, slide at all. It was more of a wild tumble which bashed several parts of her body against the rocks and roots and dirt that made up the tunnel walls, leaving her battered, bruised, and bleeding in various places. Also, when she landed, she certainly did not land on her feet. Instead, she landed painfully on her left shoulder, which she was fairly certain was now dislocated. Someone fell on top of her, and Gemma let out a wheeze. Yup, her shoulder was undeniably dislocated.

Gemma crawled out from beneath a pile of dwarves, and found her bag lying a few feet away on the railing of the platform, thankfully saved from falling over the edge to the black depths below. She pulled out her gun and holster belt. She resolved to sleep wearing it from now on.

Just as the Company all got to their feet, the most disgusting little creatures Gemma had ever seen swarmed across the bridge, enveloping them in a mass of blistering, slimy bodies. Gemma tried to fight them back, but the whole scene was too chaotic to use her weapon; she could risk shooting one of her friends if she tried. The creatures tied their arms, yanking her dislocated shoulder at a painful angle, and pushed them forward. Gemma felt their grotesquely long fingers touch places that she _definitely_ did not want touched, and she tried to wriggle herself away from them.

For some reason, her mind recalled a scene from her year at university, back when she wanted to become a lawyer. It was her first uni party, a frat party to be specific. Writhing bodies, wandering hands, a general atmosphere of chaos, and being surrounded by disgusting, slimy creatures. Only this time, the creatures were literally slimy. And probably homicidal.

Gemma continued to wriggle and twist from the grabbing hands until her back collided with a solid chest. "Thorin?" She guessed in a whisper, unable to turn around.

"Are you alright?" He asked back, trying to steady her somehow without the use of his tied hands. Thanks to their awkward height differences, he only succeeded in pushing his abs closer to her butt.

"Not really, I think my shoulder is dislocated, and these…things, have grabby hands." She would much rather have her butt mashed against his chest, however mortifying and cringe-worthy that sentence sounded, than being felt up by four-foot slime creatures (that sentence was most definitely more cringe-worthy than the last).

"They're goblins," he replied with disgust, maneuvering to try to shield her body with his own.

Gemma was struck by how gentlemanly that was of him, but rather than remarking on this, she said, "Geez, dragons and goblins and orcs, Middle Earth has way too many dangerous creatures roaming around. It's like something out of _The Wizard of Oz_, like _dragons and goblins and orcs, oh my!_" She could feel the confusion that warped Thorin's face at her words, even if she couldn't see it. "Never mind," she mumbled, unconsciously curling into the warmth of Thorin's big fur coat, as she began to work on loosening the knot binding her wrists.

The goblins pushed them along the rickety wooden bridges, which seemed to be defying the laws of physics just by the fact that they were still standing, and brought them to another platform much larger than the last. It stood in the centre of a large pit that was full of other platforms and connecting bridges, creating an intricate framework from which millions of goblins leered down at them. The only sources of light in the otherwise dank and bottomless pit were the thousands of torches that lined the framework. The wooden, _highly flammable_ framework. Gemma pressed herself further into Thorin, crouching and curling further into his coat as if it could swallow her up. Ahead of the Company, sitting atop a throne of skulls, rock and live goblins, was the largest and ugliest goblin of all. And this goblin began to sing, a morbid and bone-chilling song accompanied by a cacophonic tune of crude instruments.

"Catchy, isn't it?" The creature, whom she presumed was the king, asked with his fat chin wiggling once he finished the song about Goblin Town.

"That's not a song, it's an abomination!" Balin cried. _Awesome, great going Balin_. Honestly, these dwarves knew nothing about diplomacy or talking their way out of situations. Looks like she would have to handle it. She tried to conjure up Persuasive-Gemma, but she didn't seem to want to come out. Gemma was too distracted by that disgusting drooping chin, and all those fire hazards surrounding them.

"Who dares to come into my kingdom armed?" The Great Goblin questioned as the goblins stripped the Company of all their belongings, even managing to take Gemma's bag and gun, though she broke at least two noses before the creatures were able to wrestle her things away. Their belongings were thrown in a pile at the foot of the Great Goblin's throne.

"Dwarves," one goblin said. "We found them on the front porch."

"Well, search them!" The Great Goblin yelled. "Every crack, every crevice."

The goblins swarmed them again, and became even more handsy. One dumped out a bag that contained several pieces of elvish tableware. Nori mumbled something about keepsakes as the goblins roared, accusing them of being in league with elves. Gemma honestly didn't know how Nori had managed to hold on to the treasures throughout the whole thunder-battle ordeal. The goblin king demanded to know why they were there, and Thorin made to step forward. Gemma blocked him with her knee. They already knew that someone had it out for the Company; if the Great Goblin recognized Thorin, they were all screwed.

Bofur stepped forward instead, and began a rambling excuse about roads and paths and tracks and distant relations. It was only serving to piss the Great Goblin off. Gemma stepped forward, interrupting Bofur's rambling. "Don't mind them; they haven't the slightest idea what they're talking about…sir," she said in her most charming of voices, attempting to channel the overly perky and convincing attitude from her teenage years as a part-time Starbucks barista. "See, we are not in league with elves. We… are simple travellers, but I fear we took a wrong turn a few miles back. We should have travelled through the valley, but instead we took the wrong path along this mountain. We're terribly sorry to intrude." The dwarves all nodded vigorously. P_lease let us go._ Gemma had always thought that the best way to lie was to use the truth. It was easier to remember, and it often actually worked.

And it almost did, until…

"Lies!" The Great Goblin roared.

"Fuck. We tried." Gemma mumbled.

"If they won't talk, we'll make 'em squawk," the goblin declared to raucous applause. "Starting with the woman." He pointed at her.

There was uproar amongst the dwarves as they tried to block her, but the goblins pushed her forward once more.

She tried to put on a brave face; she would rather it be her, who was already broken, than one of the others. Yet her body began to tremor, ever so slightly, as the goblins used a pulley system to raise a device that clearly could only be intended for the most brutal of uses up onto the platform. As the goblins pushed her towards it, her vision fogged, and their faces morphed into those faceless faces, and she was horribly aware of all those torches lighting up the pit surrounding her, and she smelt that musty smell that she knew so well...

_Breathe. Don't black out. Don't do it. _She repeated the mantra in her head, as if willpower alone could stop the effects. It had never worked before, but she continued to try.

Through the haze she saw Fili and Kili, still struggling to get to her; she realised that they all were, but none could break free of their restrainers. And Thorin, he fought the most. She looked to him, and the haze cleared.

Unfortunately, the commotion Thorin caused drew attention, and the Great Goblin finally recognized who he was. "Wait," he called, holding up a massive hand to halt the goblins that were forcing Gemma into the torture device. "I know who you are," he pointed at Thorin, smug, "the great Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." He said Thorin's title, long and drawn out, in a singsong voice that made everyone wince. "Except you don't have a mountain anymore. So I guess that makes you... well, no one, really." Gemma felt her stomach drop. Hadn't she implied the same thing to Thorin earlier? She felt disgusted that her mind could even consider a thought that was also formed in the brain of this foul thing.

"But," the Great Goblin continued, "There are those who have set a fine price for your head. Just your head, mind you." This caught Gemma's attention and Thorin's too. "Oh, you don't know? Yes the pale orc has issued a handsome bounty."

Thorin paled at the moniker, and looked like he was going to be sick. Gemma recognized it as well from the stories she'd heard during their travels, though those were, of course, highly abridged versions, because no one told her anything!

"Azog is long dead," Thorin growled, finally breaking his silence, which pleased the Great Goblin greatly.

"Oh no, he is quite alive, and hunting for you relentlessly. You didn't know?"

Thorin looked ready to lunge at the creature's mocking tone, or possible burst into tears, but it was at that precise moment that one of the goblins, who had been snooping though the pile of the Company's belongings, unsheathed Thorin's elven sword, Orcrist. A great chorus of shrieks filled the pit as the goblins recoiled. "I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver, slaughterer of thousands!" the Great Goblin cried. "Kill them! Rip them to shreds!"

The Company braced for a final stand, but salvation came as a bright light from a crumbled rock face. Through the void came Gandalf, and Gemma finally got to see what a brilliant wizard he was. But she wasted no time on amazement; instead she pushed off the now temporarily blind goblins that held her and lunged for the pile of their belongings, scooping up her gun and bag in one swift motion. As the light began to fade enough to see clearly, she yelled, "Well, come on. Fight!" The Company sprang into action as she fired a shot at the Great Goblin. It clipped his shoulder, causing him to roar in pain, but resulting in no serious damage. A pathetic shot, really, but she had forgotten her dislocated shoulder and did not account for it, the recoil sending a shot of pain though it. Still, the sound of the shot made all the goblins clutch their ears in pain, affording the Company a little bit more of a window of escape.

And escape they would. Gandalf in the lead, the Company took off running along the precarious bridges, the goblins soon to be hot on their heels.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**This new chapter is coming a bit early, but it's not like I have a schedule. I'm not that organized. Anyway, I hope you guys liked it. Thanks again for the reviews, as always they are all really, truly appreciated. Seriously, 65 reviews already? We're only just over a quarter of the way through (there will most likely be 40 chapters). That seems insane to me. I love you all.**

**I'm pretty sure most of you have at least a vague idea of what's going on with Gemma, especially after this chapter. Chapters 14, 15, and 16 will revolve around that, so if you're still confused, don't worry, all will be revealed soon!**

**My second semester just started, and it's full of terribly difficult courses, so eventually updates will become more spaced out. But not yet, so enjoy all these quick ones while they last.**

**I hope you guys have a wonderful weekend, and don't forget to review. If you feel like it. I won't be offended if you don't. Well, maybe a little.**


	13. Instinct

**Disclaimer: I think it is quite obvious that I do not own the source material, nor do I profit from this little story.**

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><p>Chapter 13: Instinct<p>

"_When your own life is threatened, your sense of empathy is blunted by a terrible, selfish hunger for survival." ― Yann Martel, Life of Pi_

If it was chaos before, it was sheer pandemonium now that they were being chased. Run, leap, dodge, duck, repeat. The absolutely instinctual nature of their capture and chase was the only thing Gemma could later blame for her not noticing Bilbo was missing. She was in fight mode, and it gave her tunnel vision. Run, leap, dodge, duck, repeat.

At one point they used a pole like a windshield wiper to sweep the goblins over either side of the bridge. Then they used a ladder to cross a gap. She fired another shot into the swarm of goblins behind them, and then took out two more by swinging a post that she had pulled from a bridge railing like a baseball bat, knocking them into the pit below. The fight was too up close for her shots to be any good. They seemed to simply be swallowed up by the mass of goblins behind them, and she was unable to see if any of her bullets found their mark. Gandalf still led the way, with Thorin on his tail, the rest of the dwarves falling in line behind, Fili, Kili, and Bofur bringing up the rear with her.

Gemma had developed a raging cramp in her side and her quads had become tight, but she pushed on, running on willpower and adrenaline alone. The past two weeks in Middle Earth had messed with her normal workout routine; too much riding, and, in Rivendell, too much eating and lounging around. She was paying for it now, and, if she was still alive, she would pay for it even worse tomorrow morning.

Bofur pushed Gemma out of the way as some goblins began launching spears and other crude weapons at them. They leapt onto a bridge. Cut the ropes. Jumped onto another. Swung it to the other side of the tunnel. Jumped again. Run, leap, dodge, duck, repeat. They came to a slope and saw another group of goblins approaching, trapping the Company on either side. Gandalf made a grandiose gesture with his staff and, in a physics-defying feat that banished any doubts Gemma had about the legitimacy of magic, detached a boulder from the rock face and set it rolling down the track ahead of them. Their path was soon clear.

Gemma's left arm hung limply at her side, dislocated shoulder making it useless. She was sure that the only thing preventing her from feeling the severe pain of it was the excessive amount of adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream. Somehow her body knew how to compensate, instincts making her adjust her stance to be more stable and effective with her remaining arm. She took out a goblin that was attempting to surprise Fili with her makeshift baseball bat, but the goblin grabbed onto the board and pulled it with him as he fell. Weaponless, except for her gun, which was basically useless in this scenario, Gemma grabbed the neck of a second advancing creature and smashed it into the rock wall on her left. Her display of force surprised her, or would have if she had any time to reflect on it. Since when had she become to brazenly violent?

She grabbed the creature's crude, jagged sword. It was heavier than she'd imagined, especially when she only had the use of one arm, and she really had no idea how to use it, but it was better than nothing. A little over a week ago, just before coming to Rivendell, Dwalin had asked her about her fighting style. Of course, he hadn't seen much then, but the stoic (and, Gemma would admit, rather intimidating) dwarf became quite enthusiastic when it came to battle tactics. Gemma had shown him a few things, basic hand-to-hand and couple martial arts manoeuvres she'd picked up, and in return he'd shown her some of the fundamentals of wielding a dagger. He'd wanted to show her sword fighting, but at the time Gemma thought a dagger was much more practical. After all, she'd been set on going home A.S.A.P. back then, and she had little use for a sword in Washington (though the chances of her using a dagger in the city were almost as low). Now she wished he had shown her swordplay, but at least his lesson gave her a bit of background. She'd seen how Thorin fought with a sword; he was fluid, intricate, like a dancer. Gemma decided she would be better to just swing and hope for the best. They continued running, coming to a long stretch of rickety bridges held up by thick ropes, and Gemma had an idea. She grabbed Bofur, who was closest, and sped up her pace, pulling him along to the front of the line. "Hold this," she yelled to him, pointing to a rope, and he did. She began to saw at the rope between his hands. "Run, come on, get across the bridge!" She finished sawing through just as Fili and Kili made it across, and Bofur let go.

As the goblins swarmed across, the unsupported bridge began to groan, and then sway. Some goblins tried to sprint across, but Gemma, Bofur, Fili, and Kili pushed and kicked them back onto the bridge. Another loud groan was heard, and then a crack as the weak supports buckled under the pressure and finally the bridge gave way, send many goblins flailing into the dark depths while leaving a considerable void between the rest and the Company. "Nicely done, lass!" Bofur said, giving her a clap on the back that painfully jostled her hurt shoulder.

Fili and Kili nodded and made to copy Bofur's motion. Seriously, what was it with dwarves? Slapping backs, knocking heads; pain seemed to be their form of appreciation. Gemma decided to teach them something better. She held out her fist towards the brothers. When they looked at her with confusion she said, "It's a fist bump. Here hold out your fist like this too." They did and she bumped fists with them both. The brothers smile in delight at the gesture; they loved anything exotic and otherworldly that she taught them. They tried the motion out with each other, grinning, before the four of them ran to catch up with the rest of the group.

Just as the Company thought they were in the clear, the section of the bridge ahead of them burst apart to reveal the Great Goblin. Black blood sluggishly flowed from the bullet wound in his shoulder, but he was far from dead. Just really pissed off. "You thought you could escape me?!" He swung his skull-topped staff at Gandalf, who was at the front of the group and just barely managed to dodge it. Bifur and Dori caught the wizard and pushed him back to his feet. Gandalf used the momentum to surge forward and attack, drawing his sword and slashing the goblin king's face, followed by his stomach. The goblin fell to his knees and Gandalf delivered a fatal slice to the neck. The body slumped forward on the bridge, so hard that the wood cracked.

Of course, due to Gemma's phenomenally bad luck, which apparently had extended to the entire Company, the bridge began to shake and then broke, and it was all the Company could do to hold on. They fell straight down, down, down, until the walls of the cavern narrowed and the bridge caught, slowing their descent so that when they finally hit the bottom they received only bruises, not a one-way ticket to the afterlife. Unfortunately, the body of the Great Goblin fell on top of them, causing an outburst of colourful words from the group which would have made a nun blush. Gemma crawled out and was helped up by Fili. The two of them dug out Thorin, who was quite stuck under the fragmented wood and tangled bodies. They helped the dwarf king to his feet, and Gemma brushed the splinters from his coat and hair; just like last time, it was an unconscious gesture. She was still quite mad at him, though at the moment she couldn't remember why.

They were pulled from their thoughts by Kili's shouts; the young dwarf was pointing to the steep slope behind them, which legions of goblins poured down, angry at the death of their king. "Only daylight can save us now. Run!" Gandalf yelled, and they did.

Gemma had lost the crude goblin sword in the fall, but that no longer mattered. The goblins were at a farther range and were not surrounding them; it was the perfect opportunity to put her gun to good use. She only wished she had a better gun with a longer range. Handguns were fine for policing and battle, but a sniper rifle would be amazing at a moment like this. Gemma's boss had been a sniper on a SWAT team when he was younger, and had taken it upon himself to personally train her in the art of long-range shooting. If he had been here now, he could have taken out tons of goblins, or at least come up with a good tactical plan. Gemma was trained in tactics and was reasonably good at strategy, but her forte had always been interrogation. There wasn't much use for that here; it wasn't a situation she could lie, intimidate, or reason her way out of. Not to mention she was hardly in the right frame of mind to come up with any half decent strategy.

Both Gemma and Thorin had fallen to the back of the group in order to cover the rest if the goblins caught up to them. It was for this reason that the events that followed had such an unfortunate outcome. The tunnel they had been travelling down was narrow but tall, stretching all the way up to the bridges and platforms of Goblin Town that they had run across only minutes ago. As the Company fled, one of these bridges far above gave way, probably from all the pounding feet of pursuers and escapees it had suffered, and fell down to the canyon floor. Gemma heard it before she saw it, and only just had time to grab the back of Thorin's fur coat and pull him out of the way. Breathing heavily, the two of them looked at the wreckage that now cut them off from the rest of the group. "Bofur? Is everyone alright?" she called.

A reply came from the other side of the blockade. "We're fine lass, but I don't think there's any way to get through this. You could try to saw some of the boards to open it up."

Thorin, who had been watching the approaching goblin army to their backs said, "There's no time. Bofur, tell Gandalf to lead you all out to safety. We'll just have to find our own way out. If we don't meet up with you shortly, continue on without us."

There was a long pause, and then a reply of "Yessir."

The clamour of the goblins grew louder. "Come," Thorin said, grabbing Gemma's arm, "There were other tunnels a few steps back. We'll have to find a way out through there." And they started running again until they came to a crossroads with a tunnel on either side.

"Which way?" Gemma asked. Both looked equally dark and unpromising.

"Left," Thorin said with false assuredness. The left tunnel was much smaller. Smart, Gemma thought.

They flew down it, rounding a sharp turn. Gemma pulled Thorin to a halt at the corner, signaling to be quiet. She peeked around the corner, watching as the goblins ran past. They heard yells, presumably from the army discovering the barricade, and a few seconds later they goblin army returned to the intersection. Gemma tensed, ready to run if the goblins turned out to be intelligent enough to split up and search both tunnels. But, just like they'd anticipated, they chose to turn down the larger path on the right. Thorin and Gemma let out a sigh of relief once the army had disappeared.

"Now we just have to get out of these damned tunnels," she whispered. The two of them continued down their tunnel, which seemed to grow darker and narrower with each step.

They continued on in silence.

Finally, after several minutes of walking, Gemma spoke up. "Thorin?" she said softly.

"Yes?" She hadn't realized he was standing so close behind her, and jumped at the sound of his voice.

"I think I dislocated my shoulder when we fell down from the cave. It's starting to be really painful. I need to reset it. Can you… help me?"

There was a pause, and then Thorin said "Alright. Lie down here." She did, taking her bag off her back. She was surprised that she hadn't lost is in all the commotion. Thank goodness she was tall and it was too high for those slimy little creatures to reach.

"You know how to do this, right?" Gemma asked as she heard, rather than saw, Thorin kneel over her. She senses him lean closer, and could smell the scent of smoke and sweat and pine that she'd unknowingly come to associate with the dwarf king. Rather than answering her, he grabbed her arm and, in a quick motion, popped her shoulder back into its socket. Gemma let out a small yelp, quickly biting her lip to quiet herself.

"Are you okay, Gemma?" Thorin asked softly, still leaning over her. She thought she could make out his the blue of his eyes in the dim, barely existent light. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

Instead of answering, she quietly said, "That's the first time you called me by my name." She liked how it sounded rolling off his tongue.

Thorin stood and helped her to her feet. "Wait a minute," Gemma said to Thorin. She picked up her bag and dug through it, pulling out a long-sleeved pyjama shirt, which she tied around her left arm in a sling. Continuing to dig around in the bag, she finally found what she was looking for: her flashlight. She pulled it out and flicked it on. "Ta-da."

Thorin seemed impressed. "Just when I begin to forget you are from another world, you always find another way to surprise me." He gestured for her to lead. They continued on.

"Thorin?" she whispered again.

"Yes Gemma?" She definitely liked it when he said her name.

"About Azog… just… I'm here for you, if you, uh, need to talk. I… well, I can't say that I understand, just like I can't say that I understand the rest of your predicament: being cast out of Erebor, leading a whole kingdom of people. But I sympathize, and… well just don't bottle it up. People always say that it's better to share it with someone, and sometimes it's best to talk to a neutral party. I don't know… I'm no good at the sharing thing either, but then, I'm not really the best to give coping advice. Sorry, I'm rambling, it's just… I wanted to tell you I support you, even if we sort of hate each other."

Thorin stayed silent, but he put a hand on her shoulder (the uninjured one) and gave it a squeeze of appreciation. This didn't change the fact that Gemma was still pissed at him for… well shit, she didn't really remember. Okay, maybe it did change the fact. She doubted their temporary camaraderie would last long, but while they shared it, Gemma found that it was actually kind of nice.

After a few more minutes of silent walking, they were startled by a yell coming from deeper within the tunnels. Gemma turned off her flashlight so as not to draw attention. Carefully, she and Thorin crept forward once more, and soon they could see a light at the end of the tunnel, which was now branching off in many directions. Just as they began to move down the tunnel they heard the yell again. Thorin pulled Gemma into one of the side tunnels, pushing her against its rock wall and covering her mouth with his hand. He positioned his body to cover hers. Slowly, he lowered his hand and they peeked around the corner to see what creature blocked their path to the surface.

It was… well, Gemma didn't know _what_ it was, and from the confusion on Thorin's face, he didn't either. The thing was humanoid in shape, but much smaller and grotesque. It was bald, had bulbous eyes, and was skinny enough that you could see the shape of its bones. "Curses!" it cried in a rough, high-pitched voice. "Precious! _We hates it forever_!" The thing slunk back down another tunnel on all fours.

"We're going to have to make a dash for the end, in case that… creature returns," Thorin whispered, still pressed against her. Gemma was suddenly aware that his height meant his face was nearly perfectly level with her chest. She blushed, and nodded, glad that the tunnel was dim. The two of them took off, sprinting down the tunnel and into the safety of the light of the setting sun. They continued to run, spotting the rest of the Company down below.

"Thorin, Gemma! Thank the Valar you're alright!" Gandalf greeted them. The old wizard started to count them all, making sure the entire Company made it out of that terrible place.

"Where's Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?!" Gemma's head shot up at Gandalf's cry.

"Wasn't he with all of you?" she demanded.

"Curse the Halfling, now he's gone and got himself lost," Dwalin said.

"Don't be a jackass Dwalin," she shot back.

"I thought he was with Dori." The allegations started to fly.

"Don't blame me!"

"Well, where did you last see him?" Gandalf prompted the dwarf.

"I think I saw him slip away when we were captured," Nori said.

"Oh God, how could we not have noticed! We've got to go back," Gemma turned to Thorin, pleading.

"No. I'll tell you what happened. Master Baggins must have seen his chance and took it," Thorin growled. "He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and warm hearth since first he stepped out his door."

"No, no we've got to go back for him," Gemma said. She looked to Fili, Kili, and Bofur for support, but they just bowed their heads. Much as they liked the hobbit, they would not defy Thorin. She huffed and turned to leave, determined to find him herself, but Thorin grabbed her arm. "Let. Go. Of. Me," she said, words clipped and tinged with a barely concealed threat.

"We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone," Thorin said, staring her down with equal conviction.

"No, he isn't," a voice called. It was Bilbo. The Company sighed in relief, and Gemma closed her eyes and smiled, glad that her friend was alright.

"Bilbo Baggins, I have never been so happy to see anyone in all my years," Gandalf said.

"We'd given you up," Fili said, giving the hobbit a friendly slap on the shoulder. Gemma smiled. She supposed old habits die hard. "But how did you get past the goblins?"

"How indeed," Thorin growled, and Gemma shot him another glare. She just couldn't understand how anyone could dislike Bilbo as much as Thorin seemed to. The hobbit was just so… likable.

Bilbo shrugged and laughed awkwardly, fingering something in his pocket. He gave no answer, so Gandalf said, "Well, what does it matter? He's back."

"It matters. I want to know. Why did you come back?" Thorin said.

Bilbo considered the question, and then replied, "I know you doubt me. And you're right. I often think of Bag End. I miss it. See, that's where I belong. That's my home. And that's why I came back; because you don't have a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can." There was a long silence when he finished his speech, and appreciation shone in everyone's eyes; even Thorin's, who gave Bilbo a nod of respect. Gemma moved over to Bilbo's side and, unable to contain herself any longer, wrapped him in a hug as best she could with her free arm.

"I'm glad you're alright," she whispered in his ear. "I don't think I could handle all these stubborn dwarves on my own." They shared a smile.

The happy reunion was shattered by a howl. Gemma whirled around to find Thorin, eyes wide.

He closed his eyes in dread and then said, "Out of the frying pan…"

"And into the fire," Gandalf finished, drawing his sword.

"Run!"

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**Bonjour mes amis! Another chapter for you! Yes, I deviated slightly from the plot in the movie, but for good reason: Gemma/Thorin fluff! I think we need a ship name for them. Any suggestions? Last chapter had some serious and dark themes, so I hope this fun, action-packed one sort of balanced that out. The next three or four chapters are going to be really… heavy, shall we say. Gemma's "secret" will be revealed, and some really important things will go do, which pertain to some dark topics. So consider this an early trigger warning.**

**Remember, I love to hear what you think. All of your reviews make me smile and I can't thank you enough for reading my story.**

**Side note, I'm editing a wonderful Hobbit fic by the lovely AliceNotInWL, called **_**The Treasure Hunter and the King Under the Mountain**_**. Go check it out!**


	14. State of Mind

**Disclaimer: I do not own any material that you recognize, nor do I make any money from this.**

**AN: I should probably mention that this is a pretty heavy chapter that references and implies some dark themes. Consider this a trigger warning. Also, Gemma's secret from her past is revealed (sort of)!**

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><p>Chapter 13: State of Mind<p>

"_You can't patch a wounded soul with a Band-Aid."_

― _Michael Connelly, The Black Echo_

The Company sprinted down the hillside, the wargs and orcs hot on their tail. Thorin pushed the others forward, urging them to run faster. And then they came to the cliff edge; it was a dead end, blocking off every way so that they could only return the way they'd come, which was, of course, blocked by an army of beasts thirsty for their blood.

A few wargs caught up to them, and Thorin saw Bilbo stab one with his tiny sword. As he cut the other one down, he couldn't help but be mildly impressed by the hobbit. Maybe he will prove me wrong, Thorin thought. If that happened Gemma would give him hell, because she would have been right about Bilbo.

"Into the trees!" he ordered. Wargs couldn't climb, so they would hopefully be safe up there.

Gemma pulled off her makeshift arm sling; now that her shoulder was back in place, it seemed to be bothering her less. Thorin wanted to tell her that she should keep it on to make sure she didn't further damage the shoulder, but then she wouldn't be able to climb. And a perfectly healed shoulder wouldn't do her much good if she was dead.

Gemma and Thorin made sure the others were in the trees, Gemma using her height advantage to push people up. The two of them joined Gandalf in the last pine, right on the cliff's edge. The wargs snapped at their heels, but all the Company members were just high enough to be out of reach.

"Geez," Gemma said to Thorin as the two of them pulled themselves up higher. She wobbled on the branch, and Thorin placed his hand on her back to steady her. "We just can't catch a fucking break." They shifted closer to the trunk of the tree, and Gemma wrapped one arm around it, the other catching Thorin's hand and giving it a squeeze of reassurance, or maybe just hopefulness. She didn't let go. He didn't remove his hand from her back.

That's when Thorin saw him: Azog the Defiler, the pale orc astride his white warg, a metal claw in place of his left hand. They stared at each other from a distance of no more than a hundred metres. Thorin couldn't believe it; he'd refused to believe the orc was alive until now, when proof was literally staring him dead in the eye. He felt Gemma squeeze his hand again, harder, drawing him out of his shock.

The pale orc yelled something in his foul Black Speech, and the wargs sprang forward. They lunged towards the trees, attempting to launch themselves up to reach the Company. When that didn't work, the animals threw their bodies against the trunks to knock the pines down. Thorin slipped from his branch, but was caught by Gemma before he could fall to his doom. She gave his hand another squeeze, still holding on to it tightly, and it was as if they could communicate through these gestures alone. She had his back, just as he had hers.

The wargs finally succeeded in toppling a tree, and it caused a domino effect. As the trees continued to fall, the dwarves and Bilbo continued to hop to the next one, until the entire Company had joined Gandalf, Gemma, and Thorin in the last pine. Thorin caught Fili by the collar, and Gemma grabbed his brother, hoisting them up and pushing them to the branch beside their own. The tree was already teetering on the edge of the cliff, and with all the added weight, it began to sway.

And then Gandalf launched a flaming pinecone towards the orcs and wargs. It sent the creatures scattering back. Thank Mahal for that crazy old wizard, Thorin thought. Gandalf lit more pine cones and tossed them to the rest of the Company, who assaulted their enemies with the flames. Soon a great wall of fire separated the Company from their foes, and the other trees blazed, crashing towards the orcs and killing a few wargs. Their enemies retreated slightly, and the dwarves yelled in triumph. Thorin nearly joined them, but he knew the battle was not won yet. They were still trapped.

That's when he noticed the pain in his right hand. It was the one that Gemma held, and she was squeezing it tight enough to make it fall off. "Gemma," he said, but she did not let go. She raised her face to him, and if he wasn't distracted he might have noticed the beautiful way her hair shone and her eyes blazed with the light of the fire. But he _was_ distracted; distracted by the look on her face. Gemma was looking at him, but he could tell she was not seeing him. She had become pale and her breathing had quickened, and she was shaking ever so slightly. But the look on her face, the look on absolute terror, it grabbed his attention and wouldn't let go. "Gemma!" he said again, giving her a shake. What was going on? Only seconds ago she had been fine, running and climbing and swearing and looking out for the others and putting on a brave face and reassuring _him_ and just… being Gemma. The woman he had grown used to, even came to respect, and maybe even more.

In his worry over Gemma, Thorin had failed to notice the groaning and shaking of the pine tree, but his attention was ripped away from her when the tree fell, nearly casting them all off the cliff. Thankfully the roots held. Thorin had to grab Gemma round the waist to keep her from slipping; in her state of mind, whatever that was, she was barely aware enough to hold on. "Thorin," she whispered, sounding panicked and uneven, as he pushed her into a position in which she straddled the trunk of the tree and clung to it with both her arms and legs. He sighed in relief, thankful that she was still able enough to see him through her panic. But then she began to tremble harder, and he could see the pain in her face.

He heard a growl behind him, and his fists clenched. "Gemma," he whispered in her ear, "you _must_ hang on. I shall return." Then he rose from his spot and stalked towards his greatest enemy. Azog, who had beheaded his grandfather, and, though he was could not bring himself to believe it, likely murdered his father as well. Azog, who hunted his Company, the only family and friends he had left. Azog, who had killed, raped, and defiled hundreds of innocents. Azog, who must have somehow done _this_ to Gemma when he needed her most. That was the only conclusion he could think of to explain her condition. He needed her to fight with him, she and her otherworldly weapon which he knew had the power to kill this beast, but she could barely move. This battle was no different than the one in Goblin Town, or in the rock field near Rivendell; the only difference that Thorin could think of was Azog's appearance. Somehow, the foul orc must have done something to Gemma.

So Thorin unsheathed his sword and charged. He'd probably die, but if he took that demon with him, by Mahal, it would be worth it.

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><p>Gemma had been fine until… well, until she hadn't. Until she'd seen <em>it<em>, until _it_ had surrounded her, swallowed her.

If she could only have screamed, or fought it back, but no. Her vision went dark around the edges and she could smell that musty smell of the cellar and that other smell that had invaded her nostrils until her brain had it memorized. Until she could smell it even when it wasn't there.

_No. No. Not now. Not fucking now._

She could hear someone calling her name, but it sounded like she was under water. She sort of felt like she was too, on account of the fact that she couldn't breathe. Oh God, she couldn't _breathe_!

She heard her name again, and she tried to focus on the voice, like the light at the end of her tunnel vision. Blue eyes. Who was it? Him… it was… _him_. "Thorin," she said, or she thought she said it. She couldn't tell because she was having a _fucking_ relapse. It hadn't happened this horribly in a while, but then, she had never been this exposed before. It was _everywhere_.

She tried to be angry at herself, as if she could yell at her mind _in_ her mind until it snapped out of it. But that didn't work, _never_ worked. So she focused on him, on those blue eyes. She was faintly aware of the sensation of falling, then hanging, then being moved so that she was lying on something. _The tree trunk_. She had forgotten she was in a tree, because part of her wasn't. Part of her was _there_, and _those_ faces were above her, and she heard _that_ laughter, and she smelt _that _smell, and, oh God, she could feel _that _feeling. The pain.

_No, no, no._

_Thorin. Focus on the man in front of you. _

But he wasn't there anymore. He had said something to her that she hadn't heard, and now he was standing on the tree trunk, running down the length of it, charging toward the monster through the… _oh God._

_Everywhere…_

_Surrounding…_

_Can't…_

_No, please!_

And Gemma lost sight of Thorin completely as her vision went dark.

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><p>Thorin charged right into Azog and his warg. It was a foolish attack, and if he were in his right mind, he would never have done something so sloppy. But he wasn't in his right mind; it seemed that no one was. He raised his oak-branch shield and collided with the beasts.<p>

The great white warg pounced on him, knocking Thorin to the ground. He pushed himself back up on his feet, but was not quick enough to counter the blow of Azog's four-bladed war axe, which caught him on the chest plate. It knocked the wind out of him, and for a second his vision faded. It returned just in time for him to see the warg's jaw clamp around his torso.

Excruciating pain filled every fibre of his being at the bite and he cried out. No, this could not all be for nothing. Summoning the last of his strength, Thorin bashed the warg's nose with the hilt of his sword. The beast roared and flung Thorin. His limp body crashed against a rock a few feet away. Everything was blurry and oh, the pain. He was done for.

Distantly, he heard Azog growl something, and watched another orc dismount and approach him with his sword drawn. The thing was an ugly, detestable creature, and Thorin thought, if I'm going to die, I refuse to have this creature be the last thing I see. He turned away as he felt the cold steel of the orc's sword on his neck, lining up the strike. His eyes wandered through the blazing hillside, looking for something to settle on. They found a bittersweet sight; the unconscious body of Gemma LaRoche. He committed her to memory, and then made to close his eyes, braced for the pain.

A blur stopped him from doing so. It was… Bilbo? Thorin couldn't believe his eyes. Bilbo Baggins had launched himself at the orc who had been about to kill him, and now knelt over the creature, stabbing it straight through the heart. Bilbo Baggins, his saviour; Thorin never would have believed it. With that thought, the pain became too much, and he sunk into the depths of unconsciousness.

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><p><em>Gunshots, yelling.<em>

_Caught, she was caught, a gun's muzzle at her chin._

_Silence._

_Dragged, screaming, but they couldn't help._

_A long drive._

_A cellar._

_Tied limbs, stretched on the table._

_Darkness, banished only by a single, bare light bulb, hanging._

_Faces, shadowed by hoods, towering above her._

_Vodka breath._

_Plans made in a foreign tongue, indecipherable._

_Cruel laughter._

_Cigarette smoke._

_Matches._

_Lighters._

_Even a red hot poker._

_Burning flesh; the smell of it, the pain of it._

_Burning flesh, her own._

_Screaming._

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><p>Some of the dwarves had managed to pull themselves off the tree to help Bilbo fight off the orcs, but it was no use, and they all knew it. Bilbo was pretty sure he only realized the reality of his imminent death when he saw Gemma slump forward on the tree trunk, unconscious. She was their wild card, their one element that seemed to give the Company an advantage above all others. If Gemma couldn't face this, how would <em>he<em> be able to? And she was Bilbo's friend; she had made him feel like everything was going to be alright even in the worst of times. Now he was alone, with no one to reassure him.

But hadn't he been alone in the caverns when he faced Gollum? Hadn't he been alone just before, when he killed Thorin's would-be executioner? Granted, he had still been completely terrified. Still was. He thought about what Gemma said to him a while ago. _Courage isn't about not being afraid of anything; it's about how you act in spite of being afraid._ She was right, and he understood that now. Bilbo had discovered his courage when he was down in the caverns, alone. He might not have too long to make use of it, but he certainly was not going to waste it. He swung his little sword at another orc, who had begun to approach Thorin's body. He didn't do any damage, but the orc retreated slightly, and ended up on the business end of Dwalin's axe.

When Bilbo was a boy, back before he had become so concerned with propriety and respectability, he used to read adventure stories. He had always been confused about the idea of an honourable death. Why would anyone want to go out fighting? Why not die peacefully, or better yet, not get yourself in a situation in which you could die in the first place. But now he understood, now that he had courage. Death was inevitable, but he found himself glad that he had chosen to come on this adventure. He had done more, seen more, and lived more in the past few weeks than he had in his whole lifetime before. If he had to die, maybe going out fighting wasn't such a bad way to go. It certainly seemed better than giving up and not even trying; now that he had his courage, that didn't even seem like much of an option anymore.

As he swung Sting wildly to fend off a warg, Bilbo noticed something big burst from the sky. And he had thought that things couldn't get any worse. But wait… what was it? A giant… eagle? The bird swooped down and plucked Dori off the ground, narrowly saving him from a swinging orc blade. Bilbo watched more of the massive creatures carry away the rest of the Company, and then his stomach dropped as he too was lifted airborne. The great eagle dropped him out over the cliff, but Bilbo barely had enough time to even think about being afraid before he landed on the back of another huge bird. And then they were free, rescued by these majestic creatures, which carried them far away from the orc pack. If he had looked back, he might have seen one more giant eagle still swooping at the ridge, fending off orcs with its giant wings as it attempted to reach its trapped passenger. But Bilbo was too relieved to look back. This was no doubt the work of Gandalf, he thought. Thank goodness they had a wizard amongst them. Bilbo wanted to laugh. He was _flying_.

Then he heard Kili cry out at the sight of his uncle. _Thorin_. The dwarf king hung from the talons of one of the eagles, unmoving. If they didn't land soon to heal him, who knew how long Thorin would last?

He heard Gandalf yell and point towards a tall stone pillar rising from the water of the river below; the Carrock on the River Anduin. The eagles set them down on the peak, and the others gathered around as Gandalf rushed to Thorin's side. "Move back! Give me room!" the old wizard snapped, and the group all moved back in unison. "Thorin," Gandalf whispered, but the dwarf king was still out cold, and had grown dreadfully pale. Gandalf checked the bite on Thorin's chest; it was deep, and bleeding sluggishly, but a warg bite often led to infection. While Gandalf was supposed to keep his use of magic to a minimum so as not to interfere with the natural course of events, he knew that he would have to use strong magic to heal Thorin. He waved his hand over the wound and muttered an ancient charm. Within seconds, the wound had knit itself closed and Thorin's eyes fluttered open.

* * *

><p>Thorin cracked his eyes open. He felt stiff and ached all over, but there was no stabbing pain from before. The old wizard had healed him, thank Mahal. He felt groggy and really just wanted to sleep, but something was tugging at Thorin's mind. "The Halfling?" he asked Gandalf.<p>

"Bilbo is fine," the wizard assured him, then beckoned the hobbit in question. Bilbo came to Thorin's side, and Thorin began to struggle to stand up, Dwalin and Kili coming to his aid.

"What were you doing?" Thorin demanded gruffly. Bilbo seemed as if he did not know what to say, and shrunk back at his tone. Gemma would kill Thorin for messing with Bilbo in this way. "You nearly got yourself killed. Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?! That you had no place amongst us?" Now Thorin began to feel bad about his plan. Bilbo was looking down at his boots, ashamed. After all the hobbit had done for him, Thorin had chosen the worst way to express his overwhelming gratefulness, and he knew it. Perhaps he had only done this because, after the horrors they'd just survived, they all needed a laugh. He was taking a page out of Gemma's book.

He stared the hobbit right in the eye and declared, "I have never been so wrong in all my life." And then, in a completely uncharacteristic action, he embraced Bilbo. The hobbit seemed in complete shock, and it made Thorin sad that he doubted himself so much. Thorin knew he had been a huge part in that, but Bilbo's actions at the cliff had proved him wrong. And, of course, it had proved Gandalf and Gemma right. Those two were smug enough on their own, but together they would never let him live it down.

The dwarves cheered, and all was well. In his peripheral vision, Thorin saw something that made his heart soar. He walked to the edge of the Carrock and looked into the distance, at the lone peak standing far away. "Is that what I think it is?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin nodded. "The Lonely Mountain. Erebor, our home." He smiled and the other dwarves did too, their gazes tinged with longing. Even at this distance, Thorin saw the mountain's beauty. The light of the rising sun peeked over the horizon, lighting up the beautiful view with streaks of orange and pink in the sky. He turned to point it out to Gemma, as he wanted her to share in his joy. And then something clicked in his brain.

"Where's Gemma?!"

The others looked around, and realized too that she was not there. How could he not have noticed? What if she had not been rescued? Was she still back there with the orcs? Oh Mahal, no. The dwarves were frantic and Bilbo and Gandalf looked completely shaken. What kind of awful people were they all to not have noticed their friend's absence? Thorin remembered how strangely she had reacted at the cliff. She had been shaken, gripped by a fear so intense that she could not function. _What_ had happened?

Just then, a Great Eagle, larger than any of the birds before it, swooped out of the sky, seemingly from nowhere. It landed and stepped back to reveal Gemma's limp form. Gandalf approached the bird and leant in close, seeming to speak with it. "She was tangled in the pine branches," He informed them all in a worried voice. "The eagles had trouble getting to her while avoiding the orcs, but they managed eventually, and she is alive."

Thorin knelt at her side, weighed down by his guilt. "Gemma," he whispered, softly brushing the hair from her face and giving her a gentle shake on the shoulder. She did not awaken right away, but her breathing began to quicken, and she squirmed and kick. Thorin held her down to avoid being hit. And then she was thrashing wildly and screaming.

"NO! Please no! _Je vous en supplie, non!_ Just kill me, _please_! Don't do this. _Kill_ me!

She was hysterical, still trapped in the throes of unconscious horrors. "Gemma!" Thorin yelled, and shook her harder.

Finally, she seemed to come to, registering that it was he who was in front of her. "Thorin?" she croaked.

"I'm here, I'm alright," he said softly. "_You're_ alright."

Suddenly, Gemma wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, burying her face in his coat and bursting into heavy sobs. Shocked, for Gemma was the last person to ever show weakness like this, all Thorin could do was hold her tightly in his arm and repeat his words in hushed tones.

"You're alright. You're alright…"

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><p><strong>AN: I told you it was a heavy chapter. I'm pretty proud of this one though. So yeah, I'm sure you all have a good idea of what's going on with Gemma by now. It won't be fully explained until chapter 16, but basically she was tortured and is now suffering from mental disorders as a result. It's a very serious issue that I've been studying and hope to explore throughout this story. Also, lots of POV jumping in this chapter, which hasn't happened in awhile, including a brief stint in Bilbo's POV. As of now, this is the only time I will be writing in a POV other than Gemma's or Thorin's. I kind of had to here because both of them were passed out. It might change as I continue to write, but so far this is the only exception.<strong>

**Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I never expected so many people to like my story!**

**Oh, and the brief little French section, **_« Je vous en supplie, non! »_**, means "I beg you, no!" French is the only other language that I can speak and write with some degree of proficiency (emphasis on **_**some**_**), so I love to try to incorporate it into my writing when I can, if only to get better at using it. That being said, I do not speak the language fluently, so if you **_**do**_** and you spot a mistake, please let me know!**

**Review?**


	15. Hard to Bear

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Middle Earth, nor do I make money from this work for fanfiction.**

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><p>Chapter 15: Hard to Bear<p>

"_When you don't talk, there's a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said." _

― _Catherine Gilbert Murdock, Dairy Queen_

Gemma finally calmed down, and was mortified to realize that she had been crying _on _Thorin Oakensheild. She might as well have been sitting in his lap. This was just great. Everyone was staring. Just _fucking_ great. "Okay. Okay, alright, I'm good…I'm fine." She pushed herself to her feet, with Thorin's help. She examined a gash on her arm where a tree branch must have cut her. It wasn't bleeding, but it hurt like hell. Gemma focused on that, trying to erase what had happened from her mind.

"Gemma, lass," Bofur started, "are you sure you're alright? I mean, you were out cold and…"

"I said I'm _fine_," she snapped harshly. Bofur raised his eyebrows, and Gemma felt bad for snapping at him. "Sorry," she grumbled. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, not now. Maybe not ever. So you should all just forget that…_that_… ever happened. Alright? Now, we should get off this fucking rock, seriously, this is the worst place we could be with a bunch of killer monsters after us. They'd see us from a mile away. Might as well put up some flares and light up the Bat Signal or something." She was being a jerk and she knew it, but she _really _did not want to talk or even think about her meltdown.

So the Company made their way down the Carrock to the cliffs below. There was a rock wall to their right which gave them some cover, so they traveled along that for the rest of the morning. It was cold, as they were up in the mountains, high enough that frost could be seen coating the ground, but they pushed on. Along the way Gandalf approached her. She had been reluctant to talk to him, but he had only wanted to heal her injured shoulder. Gemma was thankful that he was respecting her privacy, at least for now. She knew eventually the others would want answers, but she didn't feel like she could give them.

When they finally took a break for lunch, Thorin asked Bilbo to climb up the rock wall and look for their pursuers. It was a smart move, Gemma thought, as Bilbo was small and quiet enough to not be seen if they were being followed. Something seemed to have changed between Thorin and Bilbo while she was passed out, and whatever it was, Gemma was glad. The hobbit was finally coming out of his shell, and Thorin wasn't being such an asshole anymore.

Gemma found a spot a little bit away from the rest of the group. They kept staring at her, and they weren't very discrete about it. She had not planned on having this conversation with any of them, but then, she had not planned on still being here. She had been doing so well too, but obviously the situation on the pine ridge had been too intense for her to handle. She rummaged through her bag, hoping to find some of her old prescription pills left. She had not taken them in a few months because she had been feeling better, but she figured she needed to start again. They weren't there. She popped an Advil instead, and the group moved on once Bilbo returned.

And that's how it continued for several days. They walked and walked, attempting to maintain the distance they had gained between them and the orcs. Each day, Gemma withdrew more and more from the Company, until it came to the point where she barely spoke any words to them at all. She was completely closed off, but inside she was dying.

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><p>That first night after the battle was the first time the Company heard the noises. In the middle of the night, Thorin was pulled from his sleep by a yell. The rest of the Company was woken too, and they soon discovered the source; Gemma lay trapped in the throes of some terrible nightmare, like she had earlier that day on the Carrock. She moans and sobbed and yelled and spoke garbled words, often in that foreign tongue she sometimes used. Thorin didn't know what she said, but the way they were spoken, in fear and desperation, chilled him to the bone.<p>

His nephews were perhaps the most affected. They had come to look up to Gemma, admiring her strength and wit. There was nothing more terrifying than seeing someone you look up to so broken. Seeing her that way filled Thorin's own heart with fear.

That night, Fili had risen from his bedroll and knelt beside Gemma, attempting to wake her from her terrors. The Company had watched as the woman, in a crazed and terrified state of half-awareness, pounced on the young dwarf and attempted to strangle him. Dwalin quickly pulled Gemma off and held her until she regained her sanity. She had looked absolutely mortified, and apologized profusely to Fili, who insisted that he was fine. Gemma then retreated to the far edge of their camp area, away from the rest, before anyone could attempt to speak with her.

In the days that followed, Gemma grew increasingly distant, and increasingly exhausted. Each day, a few Company members would attempt to ask her what was going on, but none had success, not even Bilbo or Gandalf. On a good day, she would yell and curse at them, or insist on outright denying that anything was wrong. On a bad day she would say nothing at all, only shake her head and hold it in her hands. Thorin grew more worried each day.

Each night, from the edges of the camp, the Company could hear the sounds of her nightmares, now muffled by the distance she put between them and the sweater she used as a pillow. There was nothing they could do. They could only continue trying to reach her when she was awake; when she had at least one foot still planted in reality, not trapped in whatever hell filled her dreams.

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><p>It was lunch time, nearly a week later, when they stopped to rest, still following the rocky ridge, though they were now mostly through the mountains. The sky was cloudy and dark, as if a storm were about to burst. It had been like that all week, yet no storm had come, not yet. As per usual, Bilbo scampered up the hill to look for the orc pack. Throughout the week the orcs had steadily closed the distance between them, and the Company knew that the lead they had gained was all but lost. Gemma took up her now customary position several feet away from the group, and leant her head back against the stone wall, closing her eyes. Her spotty, nightmare-dominated sleep this past week had left her absolutely exhausted, and put her in an even fouler mood.<p>

Seconds later, Gemma heard footsteps approach right on schedule. The Company members continued to try to speak with her, despite the fact that she'd only push them away. The footsteps were heavy, clearly dwarf feet, and their owner moved with purpose, though somewhat gingerly. She didn't have to open her eyes to know who it was. He had not come to see her yet, but Gemma had often caught his worrying gaze during the past week. It unsettled her. "What?" she asked bluntly without opening her eyes. She didn't really care that she was being a bitch. It had been days since she'd last slept properly, and she'd just recently had a mental breakdown. Gemma figured those were pretty good reasons.

"You know, you were right about Bilbo," Thorin said. "He saved my life. I told him that I was wrong, that he has a place in our Company." She felt him place his hand on her knee, slowly, warily. "Gemma, you have a place in our Company too; in _my_ Company. If there's something wrong, I would hope that you would tell me."

"Well, keep hoping. Besides, I'm fine, nothing's wrong." Gemma didn't need to open her eyes to know that Thorin was looking at her in disbelief, but she opened them anyway, and saw that he was.

"Gemma, I don't wish for that to happen to you again. I was there, I was right beside you. You were fine one moment, and the next you were shaking and squeezing my hand and breathing hard. You looked terrified. Please, tell me what is wrong."

Gemma finally snapped. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?!" she yelled.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong, the truth. Didn't you tell me back in Goblin Town that discussing one's problems and worries with another was important?"

She scowled at him and straightened up to her full height, standing right in front of him so that she looked down at him. "Oh yeah, throw my words back in my face, see if I care. You know what? Fuck you, Thorin. Why don't you mind your own goddamn business and stay the fuck out of my personal issues!? Why can't all of you just leave it alone!? Why do you even care? Just because you're the leader of this Company doesn't mean you can force me to tell you. Besides, we hate each other; I think we've both made that _very_ clear. _We're not friends!_"

Thorin's eyebrows knit together, and Gemma felt a bit bad, but only a little bit. "I do not hate you," he told her. "I did at first, but I've come to respect you, just as I have come to respect Master Baggins." He looked her straight in the eye. "I was worried about you. I care about you."

Gemma didn't know what to say to that. She turned her head away from him. He cared about her? What did that mean? Just thinking about it made her head hurt, so she chose not to think of it. Instead, she considered her options. For some reason, talking to Thorin made her feel different that talking with the others had. She felt like she owed him an explanation, which was not true. She didn't owe anyone an explanation, not about _that_. Yet she found that she wanted to talk to him about it, which in itself was new. She hated talking about it, because it forced her to relive it, and even though her therapist had told her that was a good thing, that it would help her get over it, she didn't find it helpful or therapeutic. It just made her feel like she wanted to curl up and hide.

"Bilbo's back," Balin called to Thorin, and Gemma heard him sigh in defeat and stand up. She realized then that she was seeing a completely new side of Thorin, a soft and caring side that didn't seem to come out too often. He truly was looking out for her, and she had turned him away. "Thorin," she said, turning to him to see his retreating form pause. He did not turn back to look at her, he just stood and waited. "I… it's a long story, and we don't have the time now. I'll find you tonight once the others are asleep, and we can, um, talk then. But you must promise not to tell anyone else, not yet. I really don't like to talk about…_ it_."

She saw him pause, nod, and then continue walking away. For some reason, Gemma almost felt like smiling. Maybe a part of her did want to talk about this after all. After a second, she too made her way over to the group to hear Bilbo's findings, feeling a little less horrible than before.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin asked the hobbit.

"Too close, no more than a few leagues away," Bilbo said as he scampered down. "But we have a bigger problem."

"The wargs have picked up our scent," Dwalin guessed.

"Not yet, no, but there's something else…," Bilbo began.

"Did they see you? They saw you, didn't they," Gandalf interrupted.

"No," Bilbo said in frustration, "that's not it." Gemma just shook her head. They should really just let Bilbo speak. Honestly, _men_. Or rather, _dwarves_. Jeez, this stupid noun game was too confusing.

"What did I tell you, quiet as a mouse," Gandalf boasted of Bilbo, and the dwarves began to chatter in agreement and praise, Bilbo earning a few slaps on the back, which nearly knocked him over. Gemma was determined to break that habit of theirs if it were the last thing she did. A friendly dwarf slap hurt way too much to really be considered _friendly_ by any other creature. _Dwarves_.

Gemma caught Bilbo's eye and gave him an imploring look. _Shut them up_, it said. Bilbo sighed, and nodded. "Will you just listen?!" he said, "I'm trying to tell you that there's something else out there." That certainly did the trick.

"In what form? Like a bear?" Gandalf asked, suddenly quite grave.

Bilbo did a double-take, surprised. "Well, yes, yes, but much bigger. How did you know?"

Gandalf turned away, not giving an answer. "I say we double back," Bofur suggested.

"We'll be run down by a pack of orcs," Thorin vetoed the idea.

"Yes, I vote no orcs," Gemma said. The others seemed somewhat surprised that she had spoken, as it was the first time in a week that she had contributed to any group conversation.

"There is a house not far from here, in which we might take refuge," Gandalf finally said.

"Who's house?" Thorin questioned. "Are they friend or foe?" Gemma could tell he was thinking of the wizard's detour to the elves, and did not fancy a repeat of that event.

Gandalf wiped his brow. "Neither," he said. "He may help us… or he may kill us."

Well, not the worst odds, Gemma thought. In the distance, a warg howled, the sound too close for comfort.

"What choice do we have?" Thorin said.

There was a loud roar from behind them, which, by comparison, made a warg's howl sound like the yelp of a pup. Thorin's question had been rhetorical, but Gandalf decided to answer. "None."

The Company ran down the hillside, into the forest below. They could hear the orc pack behind them, close. The brutes had caught their scent. Another earth-shattering roar sounded. They broke out of the trees and into a field, in which a quaint little house stood, surrounded by a high fence. "To the house, quickly now," Gandalf called.

Gemma stayed at the back of the group with Gandalf to shepherd the dwarves towards the cottage. She continuously checked over her shoulder. Their enemies, and whatever that bear-thing was, were not in sight yet, but they were close. She could feel it.

Unfortunately, they had another problem up front. Some of the dwarves had reached the door to the house, but they could not get it open. As they approached the house it was quite clear that it belonged to someone much taller than them. The heavy crossbar on the door was above their heads, and the dwarves could barely reach it, never mind swing it open. Gemma lengthened her stride and picked up speed, using her long legs to propel herself to the front of the group. Gemma was fairly tall by human standards, and stood a head taller than Thorin, the tallest of the dwarves. But the crossbar still came up to her chin. Whoever lived here must be absolutely massive. She pushed the heavy thing over and heaved the great door open.

From the doorway, Gemma caught sight of a huge bear leaping from the woods, charging straight for them. "Quick, inside. Close the door!" she yelled. The dwarves pushed, just as the bear came to the other side. The creature wedged its head inside, but the dwarves continued pushing, fighting against the beast's strength, and managed to close and bar the door.

"What the bloody hell was that thing?" Bofur asked, panting.

"That was our host," Gandalf answered, to incredulous looks from the group. "His name is Beorn, and he is a skin changer."

"Wait, wait, wait, skin changer? What the heck is that?" Gemma asked. People seemed to continue to forget that she was from a completely different world. A world which, compared to Middle Earth, was severely lacking in the terrifying-creatures-that-want-to-rip-out-your-guts category.

"Sometimes he is a bear, sometimes he is a man," Gandalf explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The bear is unpredictable. The man…can be reasoned with. However, he is not very fond of dwarves."

"Wow, that's wonderful," Gemma said sarcastically, turning to the dwarves. "Seriously, is there anybody who likes you guys?" The dwarves ignored her. They'd learned to disregard her ribbing, as it usually just meant Gemma was nervous. They actually seemed quite happy that she was at least speaking again.

"Get away from the door," Dori said to Ori, "This isn't natural; it's obviously some dark spell."

"You fool," Gandalf said, "he's under no enchantment but his own. Try not to mention anything about dark sorcery in his midst. In fact, I think it's best if we leave the talking to me again. Now, let's all get some sleep. You'll be safe here tonight." The old wizard looked around, and then said under his breath, "I hope."

_Wow, thanks for that, Gandalf, really makes me feel safe_, Gemma thought. Still, she made her way over to one wall and rolled out a blanket on the wood floor. Hay made her sneeze, so she figured it probably wouldn't be best to sleep in the barn-like area where the others were making their beds. She also wanted a quiet area that was a bit removed so that she and Thorin could have their talk. Plus, there were mice over there. Gemma didn't like mice.

Thorin made his bed in the hay with the others, but he kept glancing at Gemma, as if to make sure that she hadn't forgotten their promised talk. As if she could forget; it had been on her mind since she had agreed to it, despite all that had happened in between then and now. Would he understand? Would he think her weak? She had only ever talked about this with her colleagues and friends at work and of course with her therapist. But even they didn't know the details. Thorin would. She would tell him everything, because something told her that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. Part of her wanted to spit the words out, and another part still wanted to swallow them down and keep them secret. But that first part had grown stronger, until it was an aching need.

The others finally settled in, and soon snoring could be heard from all corners of the house. Gemma lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, thinking and waiting. She envied the dwarves' for their easy slip into slumber. It almost always took Gemma an hour to fall asleep, and of course, as of late, sleep rarely came at all. She heard footstep, and wondered if maybe she could pretend to be asleep so as to avoid the conversation. No, she thought with a smirk, he would probably wake her up. Gemma pushed herself up so that she was sitting against the wall, and Thorin joined her there.

"So, er, how 'bout this bear thing, eh? That was crazy," she tried. Thorin just looked at her, clearly not impressed by her awkward attempt to start the conversation.

"Alright, alright. I… well, I don't really know where to begin," Gemma ran a hand through her hair and sighed. If she was going to do this, she would do it right and tell Thorin everything.

"You can't tell anybody about this ever, okay? I'll tell the others soon, but not the details that I'm about to tell you."

"You have my word," Thorin told her seriously. That meant something, it really did. Gemma knew that Thorin Oakenshield would keep his word.

"Okay... Alright. Well… it happened about a year ago in Stamford, Connecticut, only an hour away from the largest city in my country, which happens to be where I was born: a place called New York." And so she began.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**Thank you so much for the amazing response last chapter, I'm so glad that you guys like where this is going. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote this chapter, and it still doesn't seem quite right. I think I'm too picky. Anyway, Gemma's finally opening up to Thorin, after stubbornly pushing everyone away and being a bit of a bitch all chapter, not to mention a hypocrite. I particularly enjoyed writing the part where she yells at Thorin "We're not friends" because it shows that they actually are starting to become friends. The nightmare part was added in only today, but I think that turned out pretty nicely too. Tell me what you think by leaving a review! Also, did anyone catch my pun in the title? I couldn't resist.**

**The next chapter is going to be written a bit differently. It will mostly be in the first person as Gemma tells her story.**


	16. Burnt

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or anything associated with Middle Earth.**

**AN: So it's been a little longer than normal. I've had a pretty busy week. But here's the chapter! It's not really the most eloquent one, but that was purposeful because it's supposed to be talking, and talking isn't usually very eloquent. Also, I should probably say that this chapter deals with some things that could be upsetting to some people.**

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><p>Chapter 16: Burnt<p>

"_Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone." _

― _Fred Rogers_

By this time, I had been on with the team for a while, about… jeez, nearly five years. We were more than just a unit, we were a well-oiled machine. We were the perfect team, the best of the best. So, naturally, they called us when the NSA found information that suggested a group of Russian terrorists had come to America and were planning something big. There really isn't much in Connecticut, but the area where they were supposedly hiding gave them easy access to New York, and in a terrorist's mind, New York is pretty much the bullseye of my country.

So there we were, in Connecticut, and it was actually turning out to be a good case. We really didn't have to do much; our IT guy, Jack, did all the work. He traced the IP address of… well, this isn't going to make much sense, what with the lack of computers here. Anyway, we figured out that at least a few of the terrorists were in the basement of this old brewery. You know, where beer and stuff is made. I don't know why they were there, they just were. I guess they knew the owner or something and convinced him that they weren't murdering monsters. Or maybe they just really enjoyed the beer. Anyway, we went to ambush the fuckers. It didn't work out so well.

You know that I'm a very capable fighter. My boss told me to split off from the group and sneak around behind the terrorists to block their exit, so I did. Despite what you've seen, I was actually very good at following orders. At work, at least, and not as much anymore. So I snuck around behind this group of about… four I think. There were six of us, we figured we'd nab 'em easily. Assuming that it will be easy almost always guarantees that it will not be easy, but we had been told that the group wasn't very large. We didn't count on there being more guys that we couldn't see.

But of course, there were, and one of them managed to get the jump on me just as everything was going down. So my team and that first group of terrorists were engaged in a firefight… sorry, that's basically both sides shooting at each other, and this hulk of a guy pulls me out into the middle of it. Everyone stopped, thank God, and then the terrorists were backing out of there towards this van, and they were pulling me with them. None of my team would shoot at them because they were using me as a human shield, and then I was in the back of this van, and I thought, it'll be fine, the team will catch me in the car chase. Except I'm clearly the best driver on the team, or rather, I'm the best at car chases, and without me they had no chance of catching the guy who was driving the terror van. He was an insane driver, and I would have been impressed if I wasn't so terrified. I think that was the first moment in my life that I had ever felt fear, the real thing. And then, I don't know, someone knocked me out, I guess. I can't really remember.

The next thing I do recall is waking up in this cellar-type room. It was in this cabin in the woods, because there was this big forested park not too far from the city, which I assume is where they took me. It smelt like rotten wood and dust and dirt; not overwhelmingly smelly, but there was this musty smell that, after a while, felt like it was physically coating your throat and nose. I was on this table, with my arms and legs chained down and stretched at angles that we really uncomfortable, and all I could think about was the fact that I was not dead yet. To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure why they took me. Maybe to use as a bargaining chip. They could have just let me go when they left the warehouse, or dropped me off somewhere while I was unconscious, or even killed me, but as you know, I'm not that lucky.

Some of the men who had abducted me, plus a few others, were in the room playing cards and talking in a foreign language. I assumed it was Russian, but now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't. I don't remember exactly how that case turned out, but I think maybe there were only a few Russians, and then the others were from somewhere else. I don't know, it doesn't really matter. The intel that the NSA sent us was bullshit. The point is, there was a bunch of them in the room playing poker and smoking cigarettes and having a grand old time while I was tied to a table.

The thing you should probably know about these people is that they were a small group of zealous, twisted, cowardly, hateful… well, they were terrible people who wanted to slaughter innocent people. They were planning this mass shooting at… some big business, or something. I don't remember. But, being the sadistic bastards they were, they weren't just going to leave me alone. No, they stripped me and left me bare on the table, and barely fed me, and they... um…

It started with beatings. They broke one of my ribs and bruised me black and blue, but I can take a beating. They got bored with that after a while, and I guess it isn't easy to beat someone on a table. Anyway, they moved on to waterboarding, which is basically pouring water down my throat until I choked. But waterboarding doesn't really allow for screaming. And these men wanted to make me _scream_. I don't understand why. Maybe it was that they were all just sick bastards. Maybe it was because I was a federal agent. Maybe they just wanted to take out all their crazy hate on me. Most likely it was a combination of all three.

They did…other things, but I'm not going to go into detail about those. Nope, not happening.

The whole time, I never screamed. At first, I called them some colourful names, but it just made them more determined to break me. I wouldn't give them that satisfaction; I refused to give it to them, and you know how stubborn I can be. Almost as bad as you. No, I never screamed until… well, I told you they liked to smoke. I swear, their lungs must have been disgusting blacked things. Smoking does that, you know. You should really quit. I know, I know, I'm going off topic, I just…

This one time, one man had a cigarette and… and he…

Ah, um, I need to take a break, I think. Do you have any water?

Or maybe something stronger?

Fine, just water.

Thanks.

Alright, yes, um… the man with the cigarette… well, cigarettes are like pipes, except they're smaller and straight and have an exposed burning end. So he put his cigarette out… on my bare chest. He uh, he burned me with it, and… God, I don't think there is any pain greater than the pain of burning skin. I screamed, just liked they'd been hoping for. And they laughed. They laughed and I screamed and they brought more cigarettes and then they abandoned the whole cigarette thing and just used matches and lighters and even a glowing hot poker from the fireplace they must have had upstairs. And it was so bad that I could _smell _my flesh burning and all I could focus on was the flame and these shadowed faces above me. God, even just talking about it makes me feel sick…

When my team finally came to my rescue three days later, I was this skinny, beaten, shuddering mess on the table, and I was out of my mind. The image of the fire was seared into my eyes. Almost my entire upper chest was covered in second and third degree burns, sorry, I mean really bad burns, and there were less severe burns on my arms, stomach, legs, and face. But those weren't the worst part of it all; the worst part was the months spent in complete fear and anxiety, the flashbacks and the nightmares and the panic attacks. The psychiatrists at the hospital said I had PTSD and pyrophobia, which basically means I was stuck in this continuous loop of the trauma and I had a crippling fear of fire. I was given a mandatory therapist as soon as I was released from the hospital, plus some antidepressants. The meds were okay. Not pleasant, but okay. The therapist was awful; I had to visit this lady, Dr. Partridge, twice a week and she kept insisting on making me tell her what happened, but I couldn't do it. She had about a million forehead wrinkles, and every time I told her that I wanted to stop talking about it she would wrinkle up her forehead real good and stare at me for five minutes straight. Old hag. I never really felt safe about opening up to her. She'd ask me how my social life was, too, to make sure I didn't become a recluse or something I guess, and ended up just bullshitting her. I told her I was dating a guy named Fabio. It was actually pretty funny. Sort of.

The point is, I never really fixed myself, I just sort of let it all stew under the surface, filing it away in a little box in the back of my mind. I never got my burns fixed either. Most of them healed okay with this cream I used, but the ones on my chest need surgery, or skin grafts, or laser therapy. I just can't do it. Having these masked doctors leaning over me while I'm on a table? It would be like going through _that_ all over again. I'd probably have a panic attack; I get nervous just thinking about it. And I've never really talked about it with someone either. I told Patrick about it, and my boss, but not a lot. I would've talked to my dad if he were still here, because he made me feel safe, as dads do.

I guess you're the first person I've ever really told all of it to. So, er, yeah. When I saw all that fire back on the cliffs, I just sort of snapped. I had been coping pretty well too, but I just… it was overwhelming.

So, um, that's it; the story of how I became a completely broken, neurotic, fucked up mess.

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><p>When Gemma was done, she looked at Thorin, as if she were waiting for him to pronounce her a freak of something. In truth Thorin, didn't know what to say; it was just too awful to think about. He had come to realize just how good of a person Gemma was. Though she was stubborn, opinionated, infuriating, and bossy, he didn't think he had ever met anyone more brave, loyal, honest, or just. And she had been through such hell already, being abandoned by her mother and losing her father; Thorin could tell that she had a terribly damaged self-esteem, as if she thought these things made her weak or awful. She hid it expertly behind all that bravado, but he saw it now, in the way she looked at him so desperately.<p>

Thorin did the only thing he could think of; he wrapped her in a crushing embrace, tucking her head under his chin and stroking her hair as he used to do for his nephews when they were young. Her hair was soft, and delightfully thick with waves and curls, and he found that he enjoyed the way it felt running through his fingers. Gemma had been a nervous wreck the entire time she spoke, fidgeting and gazing off in a way that meant she was not fully present, part of her back in the past. Thorin felt awful that he had forced her to relive all of this, but once she started she just kept going, as if revealing this secret somehow brought her some release. He felt her hand clutch the fabric of his shirt as she embraced him back. He had never been free with physical displays of affection, and he had a feeling that Gemma wasn't that kind of person either, but this was… nice.

Thorin almost wished he didn't know. It was difficult to imagine Gemma going through all that. He looked down at her and was struck again by how beautiful she was. He had not thought of it for a while, at least, not consciously; just passing thoughts that he was quick to discard. Now though, it was like the first time he saw her. She was this exotic creature, all intensity and darkness and strength. By Mahal, she was beautiful.

And asleep, apparently. She had not slept well in over a week, so he understood. In fact, Thorin could feel his own eyes grow heavy. So heavy. He too closed his eyes and lay down of the floor, still holding Gemma's body to his.

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><p>It was a few hours later when movement jarred Thorin from slumber. At first he did not know where he was. He felt a warm form pressed against him, and for a second he was afraid someone was attacking him in his sleep. But no, it was Gemma; she had fallen asleep on his chest after their discussion. One of her arms wrapped around him while the other rested on his chest. His hands sat on the small of her back. Their position made Thorin blush, but he did not move. Gemma shifted suddenly again, and her hand gripped his shirt. He could see her forehead wrinkle, eyebrows knitting together as she let out a small moan of pain. <em>A nightmare<em>. Thorin didn't want to wake her, he knew that did not end well, but she began to shift around a bit more. "Gemma," he whispered. She did not wake. Thorin tightened his hold on her and ran his hand along her back. "Shh," he soothed, "It's alright. They will never hurt you. Never." Gemma stopped moving and nestled further into the soft fur of his coat.

Content that she was no longer suffering, and still in the fog of half-sleep, Thorin pressed a kiss to the top of her head and went back to sleep. Seconds later, the front door creaked open and a tall man entered the cottage to find thirteen dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit, and a woman asleep on his floor.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**A heavy chapter, though not extremely long. I spent a long time trying to get this right, so please let me know what you think. I realize that the situation isn't incredibly realistic, but hey, this is fiction. Also, someone asked me if Gemma was raped, and while in all likelihood that would be what happens in the event that this situation occurred in real life, it would open up a whole new can of worms within this story, and I think it's already got enough going on. So, while I'm not outright denying it, I'm not exactly implying it either. Gemma has enough traumas to deal with, and the trauma of rape is a whole new ballgame.**

**Furthermore, I've now brought to light Gemma's struggle with mental illness. I'm going to try the write about this topic as accurately as possible, because it is an incredibly serious issue that is often misrepresented in media. I recently finished a psychology class in school in which we spent a lot of time studying mental illness, so I'm fairly confident that I will be able to portray these disorders with some degree of realism. In the following chapters, Gemma might refer to herself as "crazy" or by other slurs; please know that this is not at all **_**my**_** view of the mentally ill. There is such a terrible stigma around mental illness, and oftentimes victims see themselves in this way even though it is not the case, so that's what I'm trying to show. One in four people in the world will experience mental illness at some point in their lives. It is not something to be ashamed of. And while I am definitely not an expert by **_**any**_** stretch, I'm always available to chat if anyone out there feels like they have no one to talk to. Despite what Gemma thinks, talking does help.**

**On a happier note, this story has passed 100 reviews! You guys are amazing, I'm so happy that you are enjoying my little story. That little bit of fluff at the end of this chapter is for all of you, but especially for that one guest reviewer who begged for it! Ask and you shall receive. Do you think we can try for 200 reviews?**


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